Evolutionary Beginnings
by Jen1703
Summary: AU, Preseries...The early days of the Institute, focusing on Xavier's recruitment of Jean and, eventually, Scott. After an almost two year hiatus, Chapter 13 is finally up!
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: I don't own any of them. Duh._**

**_Author's Note: This story is set in the same universe as First Sight_ (which is also the early universe of _Snow_). This universe inspired by the wonderful stories by joanofarc15. Read her stuff – it's all great!__**

****

**_Chapter 1_**

****

Hundreds of faceless voices swirled around her, creating a vortex of confusion. She huddled in a tight ball, head resting on her knees, hands pressed tightly to her ears in an attempt to block out the incessant noise. She didn't know how long she'd been there, or even where _there was. All she knew was that she was confused and scared and that the voices wouldn't stop, wouldn't stop, _wouldn't stop_. She wanted to scream at them, she wanted to fight them, but she couldn't – she wasn't strong enough, she didn't know how._

Wait. It was back – the Good Voice, the one that seemed to be able to drown out the others, to drive the others back, if only for a while. It called to her, kind and strong, reaching out to her. It was louder than before, and this time she could understand what it was saying.

_It's all right. Let me help you,_ the Good Voice implored.

_How?_ she called, searching for the owner of the voice. _I don't know what to do!_

_Just clear your mind. Focus on my voice. I'll do all the work, you just have to let me._

She hesitated, scared to trust, but scared of the alternative.

_Don't be afraid. I want to help you; let me help you. Trust me._

The voice faded as the others once again grew stronger, louder, and the confusion began to creep into her mind again. _NO! she screamed, searching frantically for the Good Voice.__ Come back, please! Don't go! Help me!_

The voices swarmed her, making her dizzy. She tried to do as she'd been told, to clear her mind. But it was so hard, and there were so many voices, so many voices, _so__ many voices! They crashed over her in waves, coming faster and growing louder, dragging her under, making her gasp for breath. She was drowning. _

Time passed, but how much, she didn't know. The voices continued to assault her, to overwhelm her. She listened for the Good Voice, waiting and hoping for it to return. And it did. This time she was able to focus on it, and latched onto it in desperation. She cleared her mind, tried so hard to keep it clear and to focus on the Good Voice. The other voices oh so slowly faded until they became a distant buzz. Then finally blissful silence. She wept in relief, and let the quiet envelop her in its velvet warmth.

In the bright hospital room, Professor Charles Xavier opened his eyes and wiped the perspiration from his brow. He smiled gently and looked down at the 10-year-old girl lying in the bed, wires and tubes running from her body to a number of beeping and pulsing machines. Her red hair fanned out on the pillow, and the peaceful expression on her face gave no indication of the inner turmoil, of the battle he had just helped her win in her mind. 

"Thank you, Jean," he murmured, "for allowing me to help you find your way back."

*****

A week later, Professor Xavier was back at the hospital, this time with his associate Ororo Munroe. They were there to collect Jean Grey, to take her to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. There, Charles would teach Jean to develop and control the powerful mutation that had kept the girl in a coma for almost two years, since the day she had witnessed – _felt – the death of her best friend._

Charles was speaking with John and Elaine Grey, finalizing the details and signing the papers that would provide Xavier legal guardianship of the young girl. Jean sat on the edge of the bed, dressed to travel, staring out the window; she was trying to ignore the adults' conversation while fighting back tears.

Her parents were giving her away. Or at least, they might as well have been; Professor Charles Xavier was her new guardian, and she would live with him and his colleagues on his estate in Westchester. And she knew why – because she was a _mutant_. Her parents didn't want a freak for a daughter, so they were sending her away to live with strangers. 

She shuddered with self loathing, wrapping her thin arms around her even thinner body. Even with the daily physical therapy they'd performed on her while she'd been unconscious, her muscles had withered during her extended hospital stay, and she was barely more than skin and bones. She was so weak she could hardly walk to the bathroom without having to stop and take a break. 

"So, Jean, are you ready to go?" the Professor asked, turning kind eyes towards her. She met his gaze briefly, then dropped her eyes to stare at her hands, now clasped tightly in her lap.

"Yes, sir," she replied quietly. 

She didn't see the look exchanged by her parents. "We're trying to do what's best for you, Jean. You understand that, don't you?" Elaine asked as she approached the bed and rested her hand on her daughter's head.

Jean nodded silently. 

"Sweetheart, we love you very much. We just want you to get better," her father told her, hugging her and kissing her cheek. Jean fought against the tears that burned so hotly behind her eyes. She blinked furiously, and kept her head stubbornly down turned, refusing to look at her parents. 

"We'll call later to see how you've settled in," Elaine said as John ushered her out of the small room. Again, Jean nodded, biting her lower lip in a combination of anger and fear; anger at her parents for abandoning her, fear of what the future held for her at Xavier's. 

"Charles?" a warm, soft voice called from the doorway. Jean glanced up at this new voice to see the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen: tall and elegant, coffee colored skin, white hair, blue eyes, regal features. Jean stared at her in awe.

"Jean, I would like you to meet Ororo Munroe," Charles introduced them. 

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Jean." Ororo smiled kindly at her, and Jean felt much of her trepidation disappear. Pushing a child-size wheelchair into the room, Ororo approached Jean's bed. "Would you like me to help you into the chair?"

Jean shook her head and slid off the bed, took three hesitant steps and lowered herself into the chair. Xavier smiled at her, motioning to his own wheelchair. "Well, we're a matched set then." Jean felt her lips twitch and fought back a smile as they left the room that had been her home for two years.

The drive to the Institute wasn't as long as Jean had expected, only a couple of hours. She stared out the window the entire time, allowing the Professor and Ororo to talk. It seemed like forever since she'd seen the world; everything seemed crisp and new, the colors more vibrant. Jean's jaw dropped as they approached the Institute - it was a mansion. She'd had no idea what to expect, but she certainly hadn't been prepared for anything quite this grand.

"Welcome to your new home, Jean," Charles said to her, amused by the stunned expression on her face. 

Ororo helped get Jean settled in, then left the girl alone to take a nap. Professor Xavier had called a meeting to brief the remaining "faculty" on Jean's situation.

"She's scared," Ororo said softly. 

"I think that would only be natural," Henry McCoy, the Institute's physician and resident mad scientist, observed. "This must be a tremendously traumatic experience for the poor girl."

Logan sat sprawled in one of the chairs in Xavier's study, taking in everything being said. "Why's she here, Charles?" he finally asked. "She's just a kid. Whaddya really think you'll to be able to do fer her?"

"Jean has the potential to become a very powerful telepath," Xavier explained, as he had when he'd first told them of his plans. "She could one day become even more powerful than me. She needs to be taught to control her abilities, to use them carefully. As you all know, there is a great deal of responsibility that comes with being a mutant. When our existence is revealed, we will be met with fear by the general population. There will be some mutants who will hope to capitalize on that fear, to start a war between humans and mutants, in an effort to created a world where mutants are superior. I see Jean, and every other student who finds a place here, as simply the means to a harmonious existence between humans and mutants."

"That's a lotta responsibility to be layin' on a kid," Logan grumbled.

Xavier nodded solemnly. "Yes, it is. Which is why we are here - to help her, support her. To train her, to prepare her for the future." 

After the meeting, Logan wandered the Institute, hands in his pockets, mulling over what the Professor had told him. A flash of red caught his attention at the end of the upstairs corridor. 

_So that's the kid,_ Logan thought to himself, watching as she tentatively made her way down the hall towards the staircase. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and headed towards her.

"Hey," he said when he was closer.

Startled, she spun around to face him. He took in her pale face and huge, frightened green eyes as she plastered herself back against the wall.

"Relax, kid, I'm not gonna hurt ya," he told her, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. He spoke to her in a low, calming voice, like one would use with a spooked horse. "I'm Logan, I'm one of the...instructors here." She relaxed somewhat at that. "You must be Jean." She nodded, and Logan smirked. "What's the matter, kid? Doncha talk?" He chuckled as her eyes narrowed slightly in what he assumed was annoyance. He figured she might not be so bad after all. "Come on, Red, let's go downstairs. You can meet Hank - he's the other instructor." 

"_'Red'?"she_ asked, eyebrow raised.

He grinned. "Ya do talk," he said in mock amazement. He watched as she fought back a smile. "And yeah, '_Red'_. It's as good a nick name as any fer ya." Jean rolled her eyes, and Logan laughed. 

"Do you have a nickname?" she prodded shyly.

"Not really. Sometimes people call me Wolverine," he told her with a shrug. Jean giggled and grinned, and the paternal instincts that swelled in him both surprised and annoyed him. She was a cute kid, and Logan decided right then and there that he wanted to hear her giggle and see her face scrunch up with laughter as often as possible.

"Ya think that's funny?" he asked, eyebrow arched as he gazed down at her. She covered her mouth with her hand to hide the smile, and shook her head in denial. "Yer all right, kid. I think we'll get along fine," he told her, reaching out to ruffle her bright hair.

That night Ororo tucked Jean into bed. Jean had come out of herself a bit during the day, even laughing a couple of times, but was still primarily reserved and shy. Now Jean was lying in her new bed, in her new room, clutching an old battered teddy bear to her chest. Ororo sat on the edge of the girl's bed, and smoothed out the wrinkles in the blanket. 

"I know how strange this all must be to you," Ororo said gently. "I know you must be confused and a bit frightened – this is a lot of change to absorb in just a day."

Jean nodded and turned her head to the side, staring at the base of the lamp on her bedside table. 

"I want you to know that if you need to talk, about anything, I'm here for you," Ororo continued, reaching out and taking hold of one of Jean's small hands. She nodded again, and swallowed loudly; Ororo noticed that her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Oh, Jean," she whispered sadly, reaching out and brushing a gentle finger along the child's cheek. "What's wrong?" 

"They didn't call," she said. "They said they'd call, and they didn't." 

"Who, your parents?" 

Jean nodded. A single tear escaped and ran down the side of Jean's nose; her hand came up and angrily brushed it away. But another tear fell, and another, and Jean couldn't stop them. "They don't want me anymore," Jean choked out in a broken whisper.

"Oh, child, that's not true," Ororo told her, gathering the fragile girl into her arms. It was like a dam had burst; Jean's body was wracked by heart-wrenching sobs. Holding her tightly, Ororo murmured soothing words, stroking her hair and rocking gently. "Your parents love you, Jean. You must believe that. They know that the Professor can help you in ways they simply cannot. They love you enough to let you go, to let you come here." Though deep down, Ororo wondered. She'd seen the relief on Elaine Grey's face when Charles had made his proposal to them; was it relief that Jean would be helped, or relief at not having to deal with her mutant daughter? 

Jean cried and cried, until finally she had no more tears to shed. Comforted by Ororo's embrace, by the gentle hand rubbing her back, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

~~

**_Do I really need to remind you about the whole "feedback" routine? I thought not.  : )_**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Author's Note: I have a new toy, and I want my darling readers to play with me! _**

**_I have a new Live Journal account; it's a pseudo message board type thing. I'll post info about story status, etc, etc, and you can post comments, questions, opinions, requests, etc – and I can reply directly to your comments on the board. Just choose the "comment on this" link, and you can use the "anonymous" option if you don't have a LJ account – just please sign your name so I can reply to you by name. It's fun – come try it out! The link to my Live Journal is on my bio page (www.livejournal.com/~jen1703). _**

**_Just keep in mind that I still want to see the number of reviews goin' up on this story, so the LJ is not an alternative to reviewing! ; )_**

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**_Chapter 2_**

Scott Summers loved to fly.

In his 10 years he'd spent more time in planes than most people ever would, and he cherished every minute of it. He'd been born for it; it was in his blood. The hum of the engines, the speed, the adrenaline rush that came with turbulence, being able to look down on the world – he loved it all. His favorite moments were when his father, decorated air force pilot Christopher "Corsair" Summers, would call Scott up to the cockpit of the family plane and have the boy take over as co-pilot. And occasionally, when they were at cruising altitude, Scott would be allowed to take the controls. The pride he felt at those moments was almost overwhelming.

On this particular day, the Summers family was returning from a holiday in Alaska; they'd had a wonderful two weeks camping in the beautifully stark wilderness, but were eager to get home and back into their normal routine. It was a beautiful afternoon for flying; the sky was clear, and the white noise of the engines had lulled Scott and his little brother Alex to sleep shortly after take-off. 

Suddenly the plane lurched and an explosion rattled the aircraft, startling the two boys awake. Christopher was shouting instructions to Katherine, his wife, as he fought to regain control. The plane banked sharply to the right, throwing Scott and Alex against the wall. Alex cried out in pain, and Scott's shoulder was throbbing from the impact; but Scott was older and knew that he had to be the strong one, so he bit his lip and ignored the ache.

"It's ok, Alex. You'll be fine," he said, trying to calm his brother. "Dad'll get us flying right in no time."

Scott looked towards the front of the plane and began to doubt his own words. Lt. Colonel Summers wasn't afraid of anything, and it terrified Scott to see his father's face tight with fear. He turned and barked an order at his wife, and she looked horrified.

"We can't! We're too high!" she cried back.

"I'll take her down as low as I can – we're losing altitude, I'll just try to steady her. Get them ready to go!"

"Chris –"

"There's no other way, Kate! Just do it!"

Katherine continued staring at him for a moment, then turned to the boys and struggled against the bucking plane to make her way back to them. She paused halfway, opened the storage hatch, and picked out what looked like two knapsacks.

_No_, Scott thought in horror, realizing what they were. And there were only two of them. _Oh, no no no!_

"Boys, I need you to put these on, ok?" she said to her sons, trying to smile through the tears that had filled her eyes. 

"Mom, no," Scott protested, pushing the parachute pack away. "We're not going without you and Dad."

Kate inhaled a shuddering breath. "Scott, honey, you have to. You and Alex need to take the parachutes and jump. Your Dad and I will be fine."

"If you're so sure you're gonna be fine, why can't we stay?" Scott argued in a panic. His mother grabbed him and held him tightly, desperately. 

"Sweetie, please, you have to," she whispered hoarsely. "You have to take care of Alex. Ok? Promise me you'll take care of your brother."

Scott hugged her back, tears finally seeping from his own eyes. "I don't want you to leave us, Mom!" he whispered back.

"I'll never leave you," she assured him, pulling back to stare deeply into Scott's eyes, eyes so like his father's. "Scott, I promise you, no matter what, I will _always_ be with you."

Scott swallowed hard, fighting to regain his composure. He had to be strong. He had to be brave. He had to take care of little Alex. 

Reaching out, Scott picked up one of the parachutes and passed it to Alex, and Kate let out a relieved breath. She helped her younger son attach the straps, while Scott struggled with his own harness.

"Kate! It has to be now!" Christopher called.

Their mother whimpered and hugged her boys tightly. "I will always love you," she rasped. "Never forget how much we love you."

Scott took a final look at his father, who was looking over his shoulder at his family. Tears shone in his eyes, and he smiled at Scott. "Make me proud, son."

Scott nodded silently, and turned back to his mother and hugged her one last time. "I love you," he told her in a choked voice, closing his eyes tightly. 

"I love you too – both of you. Don't forget, take care of Alex," she told him. Then she pulled herself away from her sons and yanked open the cargo door. Wind exploded into the plane, knocking the boys back several steps. The contents of the aircraft whipped around, some flying out through the opening. 

Scott reached out and grabbed Alex's hand and squeezed it with false confidence. "We'll be ok, Alex." The little boy looked up at his older brother with trusting eyes, and squeezed back.

"On the count of three," Kate told them, now crying freely. "One." Scott made sure he had a strong hold on Alex's small hand. "Two." They stepped to the edge of the door. "Three," Kate cried, tortured, and pushed her babies from the plane. She clung to the door, sobbing as she watched their small forms drop below the airplane and out of sight.

The air stung as it whipped over Scott's face. They counted to 10, as their mother had instructed, and pulled the rip cords. The drag created by the opening chutes jerked them up, and threatened to tear them apart, but they clung to each other desperately. Scott looked up to find the plane, but all he could see was a smattering of fiery debris falling towards them. Looking directly up, he watched in horror as the white nylon of his parachute started to char at the top, and then to glow. With a _whoosh, the chute ignited, and Scott found himself wrenched away from Alex, hands torn apart by Scott's accelerating descent. _

"Scott!" Alex screamed, reaching down towards his brother. Both boys knew it was a fruitless effort.

Scott tore his gaze away from his little brother, watching instead as the ground sped towards him, growing closer and closer, faster and faster. He realized suddenly that he was going to die.

_I'm sorry, Mom,_ he thought sadly, knowing that he would not be able to look after Alex as he'd promised. He clenched his eyes shut, and waited for the impact. It came so suddenly he never felt it.

*****

The memories roared through his head as Scott gradually regained consciousness. 

His mother's arms wrapped tightly around him. Her voice begging him to take care of Alex. His father smiling sadly from the cockpit.  Being pushed out of the plane. His hand yanked out of Alex's. His parachute burning. Falling faster, out of control. He was going to die.

He heard only snippets of conversations in that took place around him, and his foggy mind tried to piece everything together. 

_…plane crash a month ago..._

_…only survivor…_

_…no living relatives…___

_…coma...___

_…indeterminate brain damage…have to wait and see..._

_…difficult to place with an adoptive family…_

_...options…_

_...foster care…_

Scott may have been confused, but he understood enough. _I'm sorry, Mom, he thought, his heart aching, hoping somehow she'd be able to hear him. __I tried to take care of Alex, I really did. I'm sorry._

~~

**_*Jen starts to chant in a sing-song voice* One, two, _****_Logan_****_'s coming for you! Three, four, you better lock the door! *Jen flashes an evil grin* If you send feedback, I'll call him off._**


	3. Chapter 3

**_I have been remiss. *Jen hangs her head in shame* I've neglected to thank my dedicated betas, eternalsailorsolarwind and Julie. As I'm sure I've told you two ladies a million times by now, you rock!  : )_**

****

**_Chapter 3_**

Over the following weeks, Jean gradually adjusted to her new home and her new family. Days were divided into training sessions: telepathy with the Professor, academics with Dr. McCoy, strengthening with Logan, and meditation with Ororo. She'd always been smart, so her courses with Dr. McCoy caused her no trouble; she looked forward to her time with Ororo, finding it relaxing to sit and think of nothing but breathing. The sessions with the Professor and Logan, however, were another story all together.

Charles had effectively built a wall around Jean's mind, keeping her telepathy constrained. Xavier's plan was to work with Jean to improve her control, and as her mental shields grew stronger, he would gradually weaken the barriers to test her. So far, they had yet to make any progress. Controlling her telepathy was more difficult than anything Jean had ever before tried to do; she found it exhausting, and she usually left the Professor's study frustrated and angry, and with a migraine that would force her to take refuge in the dark and quiet of her bedroom for hours.

Training with Logan was little better. Still weak from two years of immobility, Jean's stamina was non-existent and she needed to take frequent breaks. Her body's inability to do as she ordered frustrated her, often to the point of tears. 

Logan was surprisingly patient with her, giving her the time she needed to recuperate between exercises, lest she injure herself. She worked herself hard, though, and she was slowly regained her strength. Already she had begun to fill out, rebuilding the muscle mass she'd lost; she no longer looked as fragile as the day she'd arrived at the Institute. Logan beamed proudly when, after just three weeks, Jean was able to make it through an entire session with only a single break.

When not training, Jean spent most of her time in reading. She could usually be found outside under her favorite ancient oak tree, or on the dock down at the lake, where she would let her feet dangle over the edge just above the water. Only when the weather or time of day forced her indoors would she retreat to quiet of the cavernous library – alone.

*****

"All right, Jean. Close your eyes, and visualize a wall around your mind," Professor Xavier instructed, his voice calm and gentle. "Now, I'm going to remove a single stone from the wall, allowing your telepathy to seep through. Concentrate on your shields; concentrate on keeping everyone else out of your mind." When he felt she was ready, he lessened his control on her mental shield.

Jean gasped as the voices flooded over her. She concentrated, as she'd been instructed, as she'd been practicing, but the voices didn't fade. They were flying at her from all parts of the mansion. _ThankthegoddessforsuchabeautifuldaygoddamnleafslostagainIneedabeerhowfascinatingnottheresultsiexpected. _

Jean whimpered, eyes clenched shut and hands gripping her head as she fought to push them out. Very, very faintly she could hear another voice: _whyisshestillhearingeveryonesheshouldn'tbehearingthemwiththelevelofshieldingstillinplace._

Finally the voices were gone, as Xavier reinforced the shield. His concern was obvious.

"I'm trying, I just can't do it," Jean told him once she'd recovered. Her voice was quiet, and she stared at the dark rich wood of the Professor's desk rather than at the man himself. "I'm sorry."

"Jean, I know you're trying – there's nothing to be sorry for," he reassured her, smiling at the young girl sitting across from him, even though she refused to look up to see it. 

"I'm sorry that I'm not doing better," she elaborated. "I just can't block people out when you take away even the tiniest piece of my shields. Even with your own shields, I can still hear you – only a bit, like a really quiet whisper, but I can still hear it." Her brows knit in frustration and she glanced up. "Why can't I do it?"

"It's a difficult process," he told her simply. "It may take years for you to develop fully effective mental shields." 

Her eyes widened. "Years?" she repeated. "Is that how long it took you?"

Charles paused, considering his answer. "No," he admitted finally. "I have a natural ability to shield out the thoughts of others. I had to learn how to enter others minds, not how to keep them out."

"Oh," Jean said, looking back down at the desk. Her body language clearly radiated defeat.

"Jean, you have to remember that every mutation manifests itself in unique ways. While you and I share telepathy as our mutation, our telepathy can and does work in different ways. Neither one is right or wrong, that's simply the way we are."

She nodded silently, but Charles could tell that she didn't believe him. He sighed and regarded her with concern. At the age of 10, Jean was already dealing with more responsibility than most people would experience in a lifetime. It weighed heavily on her tiny shoulders. Charles knew that she still felt much guilt over her friend Annie's death, the death that caused Jean's telepathy to explode. He also knew that Jean was feeling abandoned by her parents, a rejection that caused her to be deeply ashamed of her mutation. While the staff had been doing their best to make Jean feel accepted, it simply wasn't enough – he suspected she was struggling with bouts of depression that she tried to conceal from the others, but he hesitated to invade the privacy of her mind to confirm this. 

"I think we've done enough for today, Jean. Go and relax for a while before dinner," he told her kindly. Again she nodded silently, and slid out of the big leather chair.

Charles watched her go, feet scuffing on the carpet, head hanging and eyes on the ground. His heart ached for the girl, but there was only so much her could do for her for now.

Logan strode through the door, startling Jean as she'd been reaching for the knob. 

"Heya, Jeannie," he grinned at her, ruffling her hair. She rewarded him with a small smile. "Ya done fer the day?" She nodded and kept walking; Logan frowned. "Hey, kid," he called after her. She paused, turning to look at him. "You ok?" Once again, she nodded in silence and continued on her way. Logan watched her until she disappeared around the corner, then shook his head and closed the door behind him, entering Charles' study. The look on the Professor's face mirrored that on his own.

"Y're worried about her," Logan stated, dropping into the chair that Jean had just vacated. 

Charles regarded Logan steadily for a long moment. "As are you," he observed with a slight smile.

"Course I am," Logan replied, the closest Charles had ever heard him to sounding indignant. "So what's goin' on? Why isn't she getting any better at controlling her telepathy?"

Sighing, Xavier mulled that over for a long moment. "She's very sensitive," he explained. "More sensitive than she should be. The only way she can keep out other people's thoughts is if I completely block her telepathy; otherwise she has no defense."

"I thought that's what ya were tryin' to teach her."

"I am trying to teach her to shield. She seems to be incapable of it at this point; her powers are simply to strong. She can even detect traces of my own thoughts when I relax her shields. No one should be able to hear me through my own shields."

"So what're ya gonna do?"

"I don't know," Charles admitted, folding his hands on his desk. "I've been wondering if I shouldn't just keep her telepathy confined until she seems more able to control it."

"How long d'ya think that'll take?"

"I simply don't know," Charles said sadly.

*****

After dinner that night, Jean nervously entered Xavier's study, wondering what she could have done that required an additional meeting. Unless...maybe he was sending her home. Maybe she'd been doing so poorly that Professor Xavier was giving up and sending her home! The thought suddenly terrified her. If the Institute didn't want her, and her parents didn't want her, where would she go?

Charles smiled warmly at her as she crept cautiously into the room. "Come now, Jean, there's no reason to be afraid."

She approached his desk and sat in her customary chair, not meeting his gaze. 

"Please don't send me away," she pleaded softly.

Charles blinked in surprise. 

"I promise I'll work harder," she continued, speaking quickly to get the words out before she lost her courage. "I'll learn to build really, really strong shields, I promise. I'll do anything you want me to do, and I'll do everything right. I'm sorry I haven't been good enough at anything anyone's tried to teach me – I'll learn to do it all perfectly, I promise. Just please don't send me away."

"Jean, stop, please," Charles interrupted. "Whatever gave you the impression I was going to send you away?"

"I just thought....I thought maybe you were mad that I wasn't getting any better," she admitted softly, dropping her gaze once more.

"Jean," he admonished gently, silently demanding she look up at him. When she raised her head, he smiled. "I'm not angry and I would never dream of sending you away."

She waited in silence for him to continue, fear still shining in her eyes.

"I simply think it would be best if you concentrated on your other training for a while," Charles told her. Her confusion was obvious. "You need to regain your strength, physically, emotionally, and mentally, before you can make any progress. Once you're stronger, we can start working on your shields again. In the meantime, I will simply reinforce the shields I've built in your mind, and your telepathy will be blocked as long as we need it to be."

Jean's relief was palpable. Impulsively, she jumped to her feet and ran around the desk, throwing her arms around Xavier's neck. His arms came around her and he hugged her back.

"Thank you," she murmured into his shoulder. 

Her unspoken words were even louder to Charles, though he knew she didn't mean for him to hear them, and she nearly broke his heart: _Thank you for not giving up on me. I'll be the most perfect student you could ever hope for, and you'll never want to send me away. I'll make you proud of me, and you'll be glad you kept me here. I'll never mess up again, I promise!_

~~

****

**_I've run out of creative ways of begging for feedback. *Jen drops to her knees and clasps her hands together* PLEASE SEND FEEDBACK!!_**


	4. Chapter 4

**_Sorry to take so long getting this chapter up – Scott refused to play nicely with me._**

**_Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! And, as per usual, thanks to eternalsailorsolarwind and Julie for their beta skills!_**

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**_Chapter 4_**

"Good morning, Scott," the social worker, a young woman name Susan Mitchell, chirped as she entered the hospital room. "I understand you're being released today – that's wonderful news!"

Scott looked up at her and smiled for her benefit, though he didn't see his release from the hospital as a reason for celebration. 

"How're you feeling?" she prodded.

"Ok, I guess. I still get headaches, but I know the doctors told you that."

Nodding, Susan smiled. "Yes, they did. But they also said that the headaches are getting better, and that they seem to be the only side-effect of the accident."

"You mean the only side-effect of my brain damage," Scott corrected bluntly, knowing he was bordering on rude, but not really caring. The social worker glanced at him with thinly veiled surprise, but otherwise ignored his comment.

"I bet you're wondering where you're going to go now, aren't you?" she asked, pulling the visitor's chair over to the side of the bed. Without waiting for Scott to reply, she continued. "Well, unfortunately there are a lot more kids who need foster families than there are foster families available. So while we wait for a family to become available for you, you'll be staying at a group home."

"An orphanage," Scott stated plainly.

Susan chuckled. "No, Scott, there really aren't any such things as 'orphanages' anymore. Where you'll be going is a government-run home where kids like you stay until foster families take them in."

"Or until someone adopts them, yeah I get it," Scott continued, shrugging his shoulders. "So it's an orphanage that you just don't _call an orphanage."_

Taken aback by the forthright demeanor of the young boy, and his intense, almost accusatory gaze, it took her a moment to come up with a suitable reply. "Well, whatever _you_ want to call it, Scott, it's not an orphanage. I know what you're imagining – a scary, dark, dingy building with a hundred kids wearing rags for clothes and working like slaves for the evil man in charge. That's just how they are in movies like **_Annie_** and **_Oliver Twist_**. It's nothing like that, I promise," Susan told him with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.   

Again, Scott shrugged his bony shoulders. "If you say so." 

"Scott, listen to me, ok?" Susan pleaded with him, reaching out to take his hand. He resisted the urge to snatch his hand back. "It's not a horrible place. You'll be just fine there until we can find you a new family."

"I _had_ a family," Scott spat at her. "I don't want a new one."

"I understand how horrible this must be for you –"

He cut her off with a bitter laugh, pulling his hand almost violently away from her. "Yeah, right. If you've never been through what I've been through, how can you understand how I feel? You can't!"

Susan waited patiently while he finished his short rant. It was something she'd been through with other children, and she knew he just needed to be able to get his anger out. This young boy broke her heart a little bit, though. He hadn't been taken away from an awful family situation – he wasn't from an abusive or neglectful home, he wasn't the unwanted child of drug addicts or violent alcoholics, as most of her charges were. Until nine weeks ago, he'd been part of a loving, supportive family; now they were gone, and he was completely alone. 

"Scott, what happened to you was horrible – there's no denying that. I know you're hurting beyond anything I could imagine, and I'm so sorry you had to go through any of this. You may not believe this now, but with time the pain will go away, and you'll be able to be happy again. And you'll find a new family – one which will never replace your own – but one that you'll feel a part of and that you'll learn to love. It will just take time."

During her speech Scott has visibly deflated, and his gaze was now focused on a point on the wall behind Susan. All his pain was clearly reflected in his dark green eyes. Susan sighed sadly, knowing that the road ahead of him would not be an easy one. She wasn't optimistic about how quickly she'd be able to find a family willing to take in a 10-year-old boy with brain damage – especially when the long-term effects of that damage was yet to be determined. 

*****

Later that day, Susan escorted Scott as they left the hospital, the nursing staff waving at their departing figures. 

Their first stop was a small local mall. Since Scott literally had nothing to his name, Susan bought him clothes, a couple of books, and some other essentials that he needed to get by. After the mall, they headed straight to Essex House. Scott was subdued on the short drive to the place that would be his home for the foreseeable future. They pulled up outside of an older red-brick home, set back a few hundred feet from the main road.

"You're very lucky to be able to stay here, Scott. The building was donated by a wonderful man name Nathaniel Essex – they named it after him, as a thank you – and it's a much nicer facility than any of the other group homes I've ever seen."

Scott simply nodded, letting his eyes roam over the large 3-storey building. There were bars on all the windows, and he wasn't sure whether it was to keep strangers out, or to keep the kids in. Probably a bit of both, he decided when he saw the multiple locks on the front door. The back of the house was completely blocked by a monstrous metal fence that would undoubtedly keep the children from hopping over it to the street beyond, but also prevented anyone from the front of the home from seeing into the yard beyond. 

It was a Saturday, so the residents of Essex House were on-site, as opposed to at school. The sounds of children playing could be heard from all areas of the building, and Scott felt some of his apprehension fading away. He was introduced to the staff, who, he had to admit, seemed very nice, and then shown to the room he would be sharing with nine other boys close to his own age. 

The room was long and wide, taking up almost the entire length of one wing of the building. The beds were lined up five on each side, and Scott was pleased that the bed he'd be assigned was at the far end of the room, near to one of the large windows. 

_A room with a view,_ he mused to himself, wondering where he'd heard that saying before. He sobered when he remembered it was a movie his mother had liked. He placed his new duffle bag on his bed, and unpacked his newly-purchased clothes, while Susan chatted with one of the staff members.

"Come on, Scott, let's introduce you to some of your housemates," Susan and the other woman, Ellen, smiled at him. Scott nodded and put on an impassive face as he was led downstairs to meet the other children.

On the main floor there was a large recreation room, and that was where most of the children were gathered. The room housed a large television, another smaller TV hooked up for video games, and countless board games and books on the shelves lining the walls. For some reason Scott thought that it was a home for boys only, so he was surprised to see that there were, in fact, a fair number of girls scattered throughout the room, though they did appear to be outnumbered by boys. Some of the kids looked up when Scott and the two adults entered the room, even calling out friendly greetings to Susan.

"Hey, guys, I need your attention for a minute!" Ellen called over the noise. The chatter died almost instantly, much to Scott's amazement. "Thanks. You all remember Susan, right? Well she's brought you a new housemate, who I'll let her introduce."

Susan ushered Scott further into the room, and he felt his face start to flame under the appraising gaze of the dozens of kids in the room. He shuffled uncomfortably and scanned the room aimlessly as Susan told them his name, and asked them to make him feel at home. They clapped in welcome, and Scott was sure his face was now a deep crimson from embarrassment. Susan gave him a warm hug, told him she'd be back to check on him in a couple of days, and left. Scott suddenly felt very alone.

Some kids actually came up and started chatting with him, drawing Scott into the room and inviting him to join their games. He relented, deciding he might as well try to make the best of things. He played a round of Monopoly with one group, and then moved on to a computer game with a couple of other boys. When he was bored of that, he got up and scanned the room until his gaze fell upon a boy he figured to be about his age sitting alone in a grouping of chairs, his back to the rest of the room.

"Hey," Scott said cautiously as he approached from the side.

"Hi," the other boy replied, and continued to stare straight ahead, not even casting a glance in his direction. "You're Scott, right?"

Scott nodded. 

"I'm Tim," he continued. Scott came closer and suddenly realized why Tim hadn't turned to look at him: he had a book open on his lap and he was reading – with the tips of his fingers.

"You're blind?" Scott blurted out in surprise before he could stop himself.

Tim didn't seem offended though, and simply smiled. "Yup."

"Oh," Scott said, wondering what else he could say. "Sorry."

Tim laughed. "I'm not, not really. It doesn't bug me most of the time, and it gets me out of having to do a lot of chores." Scott grinned at that and dropped himself into a chair opposite Tim. 

"What're you reading?" Scott asked.

"**_Treasure Island_. You ever read it?"**

"Yeah, my Dad –" Scott caught himself and stopped dead. The pain in his chest swelled and choked off his voice.

"Your Dad what?" 

Scott took a deep breath. "My Dad read it to me and my brother when we were little," he explained, trying to keep the sorrow out of his voice.

"Is your brother here, too?" At Scott's silence, Tim smiled sadly. "Sorry. What happened?"

"Plane crash," Scott replied simply, trying to keep the memories at bay. Tim seemed to understand.

"My parents were druggies, which is why I can't see – my mom kept on using when she was pregnant. I've been here for a year. Families don't want 'special needs' kids like me," he explained without even a hint of self-pity.

"I guess I'm 'special needs', too. I'm brain damaged from the crash," Scott smirked and Tim laughed.

"Cool! What's wrong – do you drool or walk funny or something?"

Now it was Scott's turn to laugh. "Nope, I just get really bad headaches."

Tim snorted. "That's nothing. I think we should form own club, though: Rejects R Us."

"Ok," Scott agreed with a grin. He decided that as long as Tim was there, Essex House might not be such a bad place.

~~

**_Coming soon, Chapter 5_**

**_I would like a feedback sundae, please. With lots of reviews sprinkled on top!  : )_**

**_Author's Note: I've got a pretty good email list going of people who would like to be notified when I post a new chapter. If you would like to be placed on this mailing list (which will be kept 100% confidential, by the way), you can email me directly at _****_littlesortaredheadedgirl@yahoo.com_****_._******

****


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's notes: I have my very own website! Please visit my bio page for the web address. Thanks, and visit soon!_

_Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! As always, thanks to eternalsailorsolarwind and Julie for their help!_

**_Chapter 5_**

More than six months after her arrival at the Institute, Jean was finally starting to come out of her shell. Without the overwhelming responsibility of learning to control her telepathy, she was able to focus on healing from the physical and emotional trauma of the accident and her ensuing coma. She still had quiet moments, and times where she would revert to being shy, but more and more Jean was relearning how to have fun and laugh and play and just be silly. 

The appearance of the real Jean revealed her affectionate, considerate nature. She would give Ororo a hug for no reason at all other than wanting to; she would clean up the lab for Henry after he'd finished conducting an experiment; or she'd curl up on the sofa and watch TV with her head resting on Logan's chest. The first time Hank had entered the rec room to see the ferocious Wolverine being used as a pillow by the little girl, he could hardly believe his eyes; in fact, he'd quickly gone to retrieve his camera to capture the moment on film. 

It appeared to everyone that Jean was well on her way to being a well-adjusted, happy child. Until the day the second part of her mutation manifested.

*****

"Come on Jeannie, you can hit harder than that," Logan egged her on, holding up his gloved hands and jabbing at her. She leapt backwards, narrowly avoiding the punch. She scowled at him and advanced, darting quickly in an attempt to out-maneuver him. He hopped out of her way and laughed. "Pathetic, kid! Not even close!" 

Her eyes narrowed angrily. She knew Logan was just pushing her buttons to make her mad, to trick her into getting sloppy; even though she knew it, it was working. Logan could make her angry faster than anyone she'd ever met – he seemed to delight in seeing how far he could push before she'd snap. Suddenly he swept her feet out from underneath her and the next thing she knew she was flat on her back. He stood over her, grinning, and she glared up at him. "You lose, kid."

Jean was already cranky after a restless sleep the night before, and was not in the mood for Logan's torment. "Stop baiting me!" she shouted at him in frustration. "You're distracting me."

"That's the point," he told her, pulling her to her feet. "Ya need to be able to focus, regardless of what yer opponent might be sayin'."

"You're not fighting fair."

He howled with laughter. "Kid, life ain't fair, in case ya hadn't noticed. And what's that got to do with the fact that yer hittin' like a girl today?"

Jean's face was getting redder and redder as her anger bubbled up. 

"Whatsa matter, Red? Don't like bein' told ya fight like a girl?" Logan continued his verbal assault, trying to get her to fight the way he knew she was able to.

"Cut it out!" she yelled at him. The gym seemed to vibrate, and that got Logan's attention even more than the fury in the young girl's voice. He glanced around and noticed that everything in the room was shaking, and that items that weren't bolted to the floor were starting to lift into the air. "Stop making fun of me! You're acting like a total jerk!" Jean continued to yell, oblivious to what was happening.

"Jeannie," he said slowly, trying to get her attention.

"Don't Jeannie me!" she screamed shrilly, and the room seemed to explode. The mirrors along the wall shattered outwardly, and Logan tackled Jean to the ground to keep her from being sliced by the flying glass. When he raised his head, the entire contents of the room were spinning through the air, as if caught in a tornado.

Jean's peeked out from under Logan's protective arm and looked at the scene around her in horror.

"Logan, what's going on?" she asked, suddenly very scared.

"I dunno, but we've gotta get outta here," he growled and urged Jean to her hands and knees. "Crawl towards the doors, and keep your head down."

Charles, you'd better get down here! Logan sent urgent call. I don't think telepathy is Jean's only mutation! 

Once they were safely out of the gym, Jean pulled her knees up tight against her body, staring back into the spinning chaos.

"Am I doing that?" she asked in a small voice.

Logan looked over at her, curled up on the floor shaking almost convulsively. He sank to the ground next to her and hugged her tight. He sighed heavily, knowing what this development would do to her. "I'm not sure, darlin', but I think so." 

Jean whimpered and buried her head against his chest. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," she cried over and over. 

That's how Charles found them several minutes later, Logan tenderly holding the scared girl, stroking her hair to calm her. The telekinetic storm in the gym was still raging, seeming to gain in power the more upset Jean grew.

"Jean, I need you to calm down," Xavier ordered gently. "Deep breaths...use the focusing exercises you're been working on with Ororo. Now, I want you to visualize the objects in the other room, and focus on setting them down, gently. Picture everything in the room settling back into place. Concentrate, Jean, you can do it." 

Eyes clenched tightly shut, Jean did as she was instructed. She fought to control the whirling objects in the room. Sweat was beading on her forehead as she struggled to visualize placing the objects gently down on the ground. She didn't notice when her hand came up, fingers pressing against her temple, or her other arm reaching out towards the gymnasium, directing the equipment to settle back to the floor. She cried out in pain at one point, and Logan shot a look at the Professor, who shook his head and continued to watch Jean with an intense expression on his face. 

To Logan's amazement, the tornado in the gym was slowing. The larger objects landed first, with loud thuds, while the smaller and lighter objects continued to circle the room, though not as frantically as before. Finally the last objects settled, and Jean slumped over with a whimper. Logan dropped to his knees beside her, worry etched in his rugged features. 

"Jean? C'mon, Jeannie, wake up," he encouraged, gently shaking her prone form. She didn't move. "Christ, she's out cold, Charles."

The other man nodded sagely. "I'm not surprised. The exertion of controlling her new powers overwhelmed her. We need to take her to the med lab so that Henry can monitor her condition." 

Logan scooped her up into his arms, and followed Xavier down the corridors to the lab. "This is gonna be a huge set-back fer her, isn't it?" he asked quietly, looking down at the sweet face of the little girl he carried.

Charles sighed. "I'm afraid so, Logan, I'm afraid so."

"She possesses telekinetic abilities as well?" Hank asked in amazement, after being filled in on the situation. "Oh, my stars and garters." 

Jean lay motionless on the exam table in the med lab as Hank attached electrodes to her head to monitor brain activity; the only outward indication that she was even alive was the shallow rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Logan hovered nearby, glancing from Jean to Hank and back, tracking every move the doctor made.

"She's gonna be all right, isn't she?" Logan finally asked.

"Yes, yes, of course," Hank murmured under his breath as he examined the readouts from the machines. "Fascinating, simply fascinating."

"She's had so much trouble controlling her telepathy. Why d'ya think she was able to get a handle on the telekinesis so fast? Sure, it took 'er a few minutes, but she put everything back down," Logan asked nobody in particular.

"Although more testing will be required in order to confirm this, it would appear that telekinesis is actually Jean's primary mutation," Charles speculated. "She demonstrated an innate control over it after its initial manifestation, though it will still take her some time before she is able to manage it completely. Telepathy is apparently Jean's secondary, weaker mutation, though her power is still formidable. That would, of course, explain why she has so much trouble controlling her telepathy."

"How come ya didn't know that she had multiple mutations?" Logan wondered.

Charles sighed. "It is impossible to predict these things, I'm afraid." 

"I shouldn't have pushed 'er," Logan muttered, a frown deeply etched on his face. "I was teasin' 'er, tryin' to make 'er angry so she'd fight better. That's what triggered the telekinesis to explode like that."

"No, Logan, it wasn't your fault," Charles insisted. "The telekinesis would have manifested itself eventually. You were simply the catalyst – if it hadn't been you, it would have been something else. It was very fortunate that you were there when it happened, otherwise she could have been seriously injured."

The frown deepened as Logan absorbed this information. _I'm sorry, darlin',_ he sent to her, hoping that maybe her telepathy would pick up on his thoughts.  _If I'd known what it would do to ya, I never woulda pushed ya that hard._

"I believe our young patient is beginning to awaken," Hank announced. Charles and Logan rushed over to the table where Jean lay, watching as she slowly opened her eyes. She looked at them in confusion.

"What happened?" she asked groggily, moving to sit up. Hank stopped her with an arm across her shoulders.

"Not yet, young lady," he ordered gently. "You need to stay lying down, or I'm afraid you may lose consciousness again."

"What do you mean, again?" she asked, brow furrowing.

"You're even more gifted than we'd first realized, Jean," Professor Xavier told her with a kind smile. "Not only are you telepathic, but you also have the power of telekinesis – the ability to move things with your mind. Do you remember what happened in the gymnasium?"

She looked at him blankly for a moment, but then it came back to her in a rush. "The room exploded," she muttered, and the instruments around the lab started to rattle slightly.

"Jean, listen to me," Charles instructed. "You need to calm down, and you need to concentrate on _not_ commanding items in this room to move. Do you understand?"

She looked at him fearfully, but nodded. Jean closed her eyes in concentration, and after a few long seconds the instruments settled onto their trays. 

"Now remember that feeling, Jean. Remember exactly how you regained control of the items in this room. What did you do, how did you do it? You need to be able to keep control like that at all times. That feeling must become second nature to you."

Jean bit her lip and nodded, not really knowing how she'd managed to control her new power, but that she needed to master it, and fast. She didn't ever want to hurt anyone; she'd almost hurt Logan earlier, without meaning to. She wanted nothing more than to run away and hide where she could never hurt anyone again. 

_Great, I'm an even bigger freak than I thought,_ Jean told herself, disgusted and ashamed of herself. But she refused to let her tears fall in front of the others.

~~

**_Coming soon, Chapter 6_**

**_Have you hugged a fanfic author today? Send your hugs in the form of feedback!_**


	6. Chapter 6

**__**

Chapter 6 

  
Everybody was worried about Jean. Since her telekinesis manifested, she had withdrawn completely from life in the Institute. In her lessons she kept her gaze downcast, not speaking unless asked a direct question; otherwise she was in her bedroom, or the library, avoiding the rest of the mansion's inhabitants. She had been observed, on more than one occasion, sitting in one of the library's overstuffed chairs staring unseeing at the cold ash in the fireplace for hours. She had to be coaxed down to the dining room for meals, and spent more time pushing her food around on the plate than actually eating. None of her disturbing behavior went unnoticed. 

"What can we do to help her?" Henry asked. The instructors were assembled in Professor Xavier's study on a bone-chilling and rainy autumn afternoon, discussing the well-being of their only student. 

"The development of her second mutation has caused her great stress. She's suffering from depression," Charles stated, not telling them anything they hadn't already deduced. 

"There must be something we can do, Charles," Ororo said, obviously unsettled. 

Logan paced the length of the room, growling softly to himself. "It ain't right," he announced simply. "She's just a kid. She shouldn't have to deal with any of this shit." 

Charles sighed. "In a perfect world, Logan, none of us would be compelled to feel badly about who or what we are." 

"She's 11 years old!" Logan snarled. "She's 11 years old, and I can smell the sadness on her. I can smell how much she hates herself. I can smell how scared she is of what she's capable of. Kids shouldn't feel that way about themselves!" 

"I am very much aware of this," Charles said shortly. "In case you have forgotten, Logan, I _am_ a telepath. I am perfectly aware of how distressed she is." 

"Then why the hell aren't we doin' anythin' to _help_ her?" Logan shouted in frustration. 

"We are, but it's obviously not enough," Xavier admitted. "I had believed that she would eventually come to terms with her mutation, that we would be able to teach her to be proud of her gifts, of who she is. We obviously need to do much more." 

Logan spun on his heel and stomped out of the room, muttering, "No shit" under his breath. He slammed the door shut behind him. 

"He still blames himself for her telekinesis manifesting as it did," Ororo observed, staring at the closed door. 

"He shouldn't, but yes, he does," Xavier agreed. 

"So what can we do for Jean?" Hank asked again. "She can't go on as she has been. She's a ghost child." 

"She must know that we care about her, not about what she can do," Charles told them. "We must all take it upon ourselves to make her feel loved and accepted." 

***** 

Several days after that meeting, Logan stalked through the halls of the Institute, searching for Jean. Charles and Hank had gone to a conference in New Orleans the day before, and Ororo had left to visit her sister's family to celebrate her nephew's birthday, leaving only Logan to watch over Jean. He couldn't believe he'd already managed to lose her. He'd checked the library and her room, and both were empty. He tried to catch her scent, but it was faint, indicating that she wasn't in the building; glancing towards the windows, he saw that the part-slush-part-rain that had plagued them for the better part of a week continued to pelt against the glass. He frowned. 

__

Naw, she wouldn't've gone out in this weather, he thought to himself, quickly dismissing the idea as ludicrous. He continued downstairs and through the kitchen, noticing that Jean's jacket still hung by the back door. He smiled in relief, but then noticed the new pattern of raindrops almost dry on the floor by the door. _Flamin' hell, Jeannie, what are ya doin'?_ he asked silently before grabbing his leather coat and heading outside in search of the girl. 

He wandered the grounds for a few minutes before he caught her scent. "Of course," he muttered and headed down towards the lake. His breath puffed in front of his face as we walked, and he rubbed his hands together to keep them warm. His step faltered when she came into sight; she was standing waist-deep in the lake, taking tentative steps forward. The dark water was slowly rising higher and higher. 

"What the hell...?" he asked aloud. Fear shot through his body and he broke into a run, suddenly realizing exactly what Jean was trying to do. He watched in horror as she continued to walk; suddenly she stumbled and disappeared beneath the black water. 

"Jean!" he screamed, tearing off his jacket as he sprinted towards the lake. He saw her head pop up and could see her gasp for breath. "Hang on, kid!" he called to her, watching her flail weakly. He dove into the water, his breath catching in his chest as the intense cold hit him like a physical blow. He surfaced and looked around for her. She'd gone under again. Taking a deep breath, he plunged back under and searched the murky waters. A flash of red caught his eye and he swam for it. She was struggling, trying to make her numb limbs carry her to the surface. 

With a burst of adrenaline, Logan closed the distance between them and grabbed her hand. Holding on for all he was worth, he propelled them both towards the surface. They emerged, sputtering and coughing, and Logan dragged them towards the shore. Once safely on land, Jean collapsed to her knees; her lips were purple, her skin had a bluish hue, and her eyes were glazed. She wasn't shivering, even though she was icy to the touch. _Hypothermia,_ he thought. 

"Jean? Jean, answer me. Are ya ok?" Logan demanded, kneeling in front of her and forcing her face upwards to meet his gaze. She looked at him blankly, blinking slowly. "Jean, snap out of it!" he shouted, shaking her slightly, fear as he'd never known it consuming him. Without another thought, he scooped her up in his arms and ran back to the mansion, intent on getting her warmed up. 

They burst through the door and Logan considered his options. He could take her down to the med lab, but he didn't know what was there that would help. Instead he climbed the stairs two at a time and entered Jean's room. He sat her on the edge of her bed and went into her en-suite bathroom and started filling the tub with warm water. He left the tap running, and returned to the other room. Jean hadn't moved an inch while he was gone. He knelt in front of her and forced her to look at him. 

"Jean, listen to me," he pleaded. "We need to get you outta those clothes, ok? I'm sorry, kid, but I don't have a choice. Can ya help me?" 

She didn't respond to him, and he sighed resignedly before beginning to remove her icy clothes. She was completely unresponsive, and it made the task even more difficult. Finally he was done, and he lifted her, wearing only her cotton panties, and carried her into the bathroom. The tub was full and the water steaming -- he tested it to make sure it wasn't too hot before lowering her into it. She whimpered slightly at the first contact, and he knew how hot the water would feel to her frozen skin. 

"Sorry, darlin', but we have to get ya warmed up," he apologized, completely submerging her in the water. Her body stiffened even more and he saw a flash of awareness cross her face, but it quickly disappeared. Logan perched on the edge of the tub and used one hand to swirl the water around her, the other cupping the back of her head so her face wouldn't sink below the surface. After more than 15 minutes the water had begun to cool, so Logan pulled the plug and began refilling the tub. He nearly wept in relief when she started shivering, knowing that was a good sign. Logan kept her in the bath for another half-hour, until the shivering became almost violent as her body tried to warm itself. 

"That's it, Jeannie, come on back," he muttered as he wrapped her in a large towel and carried her back to her room. Keeping the towel around her, he peeled off her panties to keep her dry, and dug through her dresser drawers until he found a long-sleeved flannel nightgown and a pair of big fluffy socks. He covered her feet easily, and when he struggled to get the nightie over her head, and she voluntarily raised her arms a little, though very weakly. 

Logan smiled at her. "Hey, kid. Yer gonna be ok. Let's get ya under those blankets and all warmed up. Sound good?" 

She looked up at him, her eyes still cloudy, and nodded. Still shivering uncontrollably, she let Logan help her over to her bed and tuck the duvet tightly around her. 

"I'll be right back. I'm just gonna go get some more blankets," he told her and slipped out of the room. 

By the time he'd returned, having quickly changed out of his own sodden clothing, she was curled up in the fetal position, trying desperately to warm up. The shivering had not subsided. "Here ya go, darlin'," he said as he piled several more blankets on top of her. 

"Th-th-th-thanks," she murmured through fiercely chattering teeth. Logan regarded her for a moment, then climbed up onto the bed and curled around her to add his own body heat. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and pulled her back against his chest. They stayed that way for several long hours, both of them eventually drifting off to sleep. 

When Logan awoke, Jean had stopped shivering, and she appeared to be sleeping peacefully. He carefully untangled himself from Jean and the covers, and slipped downstairs to make them something to eat. Jean was still asleep when he came back, and he gently shook her awake. Bleary green eyes met his, and he smiled. "Brought ya somethin' to eat." 

"Not hungry," she mumbled and closed her eyes again. 

Logan frowned. "I don't care if yer hungry or not, Red, ya need to eat." 

She ignored him until he pulled the blankets down from her upper body. "Hey!" she whined in protest. 

Logan crossed his arms across his chest and glared at her. "Eat," he ordered, motioning at the tray on her bedside table. "And then we're gonna talk." 

She shot him a nervous glance, then pushed herself into a sitting position and placed the try across her lap. The soup and grilled cheese sandwich disappeared quickly, to Logan's approval. When she'd finished, she placed the try back on the table and made to lie back down. 

"Whaddya think yer doin'? We're gonna talk about what happened," Logan told her, sitting beside her on the bed, his back against the headboard. 

Jean turned her head away, refusing to look at him. He sighed, knowing that avoidance was Jean's most commonly used defense mechanism. 

"I'm not goin' anywhere until ya tell me what the hell you were thinking with that stunt, so ya might as well talk." 

Jean stubbornly ignored him and Logan growled softly. "Jeannie," he said in a warning tone. "I want to know why you did it," he told her softly. "Why were ya tryin' to...y'know..." 

"Kill myself?" she finished for him, her tone bitter. 

Logan swallowed hard hearing her say those words. "Yeah." 

"I dunno. I wasn't really going to, y'know. I don't think so, anyway." 

"Fine then. Why were ya even thinkin' about it?" 

She shrugged and looked down at the covers. "I'm a freak. I'm dangerous." 

With a sigh, Logan slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his chest. "Yer not dangerous, and yer not a freak, Jean. Yer just a little girl who happens to be a mutant." 

"Same thing," she said quietly. "I hate what I am." 

His heart broke and he floundered, trying desperately to come up with the right things to say. He was terrified of what might happen to her if he didn't start to fix things here and now. "Aw, darlin', don't think like that. There's no reason to hate being a mutant. Listen to Professor X -- you've got gifts, and ya should be proud of that. Yer special, Jeannie, yer not a freak." 

She was silent, but shook her head. 

"There're a lot of people who care about ya, y'know." 

She snorted in disbelief. 

"All of us here care about ya. Yer parents --" 

"My parents got rid of me as soon as they found out what I was," she said angrily, and the knick-knacks on her dresser rattled ominously. "They call me once a week, and they can hardly stand talking to me. They hate me." 

"That's not true. Charles told me how hard it was fer yer parents to send you here. They knew that the Professor would be able to help ya -- they couldn't." 

She closed her eyes for a moment and focused her telekinesis before things became air born. 

"And see? You've got a handle on the TK-thing. Yer not dangerous, Jeannie. Ya just need to learn how to use yer gifts. D'you know how many people would kill to be able to do what you can?" 

Jean glanced up at him, cocking an eyebrow skeptically. 

"It's true. There are tons of people who would love to be telekinetic, or to be able to read minds. They're pretty cool powers," he told her. 

She chewed on that for a moment. "You really think so?" 

"No, I know so," he told her with a toothy grin. "Just think of all the stuff ya could do with it -- clean yer room without moving off the bed, lift heavy shi--er stuff," he faltered on purpose, and Jean let a giggle slip, "hell, I bet ya could even learn to levitate yerself." 

Jean's eyes lit up at that. "Really? You mean, I could kind of fly?" 

He shrugged. "Why not? If ya can lift other things, why not yerself? Why, y'think that'd be cool or somethin'?" 

Jean nodded. "I could fly just like Ororo." 

Logan smiled, knowing how Jean looked up to the other woman; she had once confided in him that wanted to be just like Ororo when she grew up. 

"So, see? Ya really are a special kid, Jean. Never question it, ok?" 

Jean smiled, but it quickly faded. "Um, you're not...you don't have to tell the Professor or anyone about today, do you?" 

Logan thought about that for a moment, and he could see the trepidation on her face. "I should," he admitted. "But I won't. As long as ya can promise me ya won't ever pull a stunt like that again, and that you'll _talk_ to me -- or 'Ro, or Hank, or Charles -- whenever ya get to feelin' bad." 

She nodded enthusiastically. "I promise." Then she threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely. "Thank you." 

He hugged her back, and murmured, "Yer welcome, darlin'." 

Logan knew she wasn't 100% convinced, but he had the impression that he had made some headway with her. Now, if they could all just work together to cement these ideas and make her truly believed them, he was confident she'd be fine. 

****

~~

__

Coming soon, Chapter 7 

Please send feedback!

And don't forget to visit my new website, Geek Fiction Central (the link is on my ff.net bio page).


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: I know, I know – please don't be mad! Blame the delay in updates on a hectic real life that left me no opportunity to write. But I'm back now, so I hope you enjoy!_

**_Chapter 7_**

Spinning himself around and around, Scott tried to completely disorient himself. When he stopped spinning, he stood in the middle of the room, taking a moment to let the dizziness pass. He was very still, letting his surroundings speak to him. His side felt warm, which told him the window was to his left – that meant he was facing the right way. He listened to the noises around him, and when he was satisfied, he set off with a smug smile. 

_Piece of cake,_ he thought to himself. 

Fifteen steps to the door. He stopped, then turned left. Twenty-nine steps down the hall to the top of the stairs. Reaching out confidently, he grasped the handrail and counted the eight steps to the landing, then the 12 down to the main floor. 

"At it again, Scott?" one of the staff called as Scott passed by the reception desk. He could hear the smile in her voice. 

"Yup. Gotta beat Tim's time." 

Forty-two steps down the corridor to the common room. Seventy-seven steps across the common room to the back door. He opened the door and the hot late-August air hit him in the face like a physical blow. He cringed, hating the sticky humidity that made him feel permanently damp. Thirty-four steps to the massive oak tree on the far side of the yard. 

"Done!" Scott announced triumphantly, ripping the blindfold off his eyes. He blinked in the bright sunlight and looked over at Tim. A third boy, Roger, held a stop-watch and grinned up at Scott. 

"Tim still holds the record – by 1.72 seconds." 

"Ha! Told ya! Can't beat the blind boy at finding your way through the house blindfolded," Tim crowed. 

"I'll beat you, Tim. I'm gonna destroy your record," Scott paused and clenched his eyes tightly shut as the first stabbing pain of a migraine suddenly lanced through his head. 

"Scott? You ok?" Tim asked, deducing from Scott's sudden silence what was happening. 

Leaning against the tree, Scott fought against the pain; he hated to give in to it, and had been known to hide – for hours – the fact that he was in agony. During Scott's first year and a half at Essex House, the headaches had been only a mild nuisance, a couple of days off school every month or two. But for the past six months, the migraines had increased not only in frequency, but in severity. At the age of 13, Scott Summers spent nearly half of every month incapacitated by migraines and fuzzy-headed from pain medication. 

"Scott?" Tim prodded, as he walked over to his friend and reached out a tentative hand. He connected with Scott's upper arm, and gripped it gently. "You flaking out on us again?" he tried to joke. 

"Uh –" was all that Scott managed before Tim felt the arm drop from his grip as Scott collapsed. 

"Roger, go get help," Tim ordered as he gingerly lowered himself to the ground beside Scott. 

"Ellen! Ellen, Mark, anybody," Roger hollered as he ran back to the house. "Help!" 

By the time Roger returned with the adults, Scott was curled up in the fetal position, gripping his head and moaning softly. 

"What happened?" Ellen asked as she dropped to her knees beside the fallen boy. 

"We were just playing, and he was fine. Then all of a sudden he was gone," Tim explained. 

Andrew, one of the newest staff members, stood above them, watching with curiosity. "What's wrong with him?" 

"Short answer: migraine. Go to the med kit and get a shot of morphine for him," Ellen ordered, gently brushing Scott's sweat-soaked hair off his forehead. "You'll be ok, sweetie, I promise. The medicine's coming, and the pain will go away." 

"Morphine? Isn't that kind of drastic for a headache?" Andrew asked, not moving. 

"Not in this case. Go!" 

Andrew trotted to the house, returning a few minutes later with a syringe and a small bottle of medication. Ellen snatched them from his hand, shooting him a dirty look for dawdling. She quickly injected Scott with the medicine, speaking in soft, soothing tones. 

"We need to get him into bed so he can sleep this off. Andrew, bring him inside please," Ellen instructed as she got to her feet. 

Andrew looked at her dumbly. 

"Pick him up and carry him," Ellen told him through clenched teeth. 

"He's too tall – I won't be able to carry him," Andrew whined in protest. 

"He's tall but skinny as a rail – _I_ could probably carry him. Bring him inside _now_." By the time Scott was settled into his bed, the pain was fading away and was being replaced by an irresistible need to sleep. Scott cracked open one eye to look at Ellen as she fussed over him, but the sun shining through the window forced him to close it again quickly with a very faint groan. Faint though it had been, Ellen heard it and immediately drew the curtains. 

By the time she turned back to him, his breathing had turned even, indicating that he'd fallen asleep. She sighed and sat on the bed beside his, watching him for a moment. In the two years he'd been at Essex House, he'd endeared himself to the staff. He was quiet and a bit shy, overly responsible, and always looking out for the younger children. If something needed to be done, they always asked Scott – he took control and made sure the others pitched in. He was bright and quick to learn, and Ellen often found herself wondering just what side effects his brain injury could have caused – other than the headaches, he appeared perfectly normal. 

But the "brain damage" label in Scott's file had scared away all foster families or potential adoptive families. And now that he was a teenager, just about all hope of Scott ever finding a loving family to take care of him had all but vanished. Families rarely wanted children over the age of 9, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd placed a teenager, let alone a teenager with special needs. 

At least he'd found a friend in Tim, the only child who had been at Essex House longer that Scott. 

Sighing sadly, Ellen rose from the bed and glanced once more at the sleeping boy before leaving to let the medication work its magic. 

_All he could see was fire. The plane's engine was shooting bright orange flame, casting a reddish hue over the inside of the plane's cabin. The reflected glow made it appear that the inside of the plane was actually ablaze. _

_Scott looked around, frantically trying to find Alex and his parents. Everything looked red. He ran up to the cockpit, but no-one was at the controls. His family was gone, and no-one was flying the plane. He'd been left alone in the plane as it fell from the sky, out of control. Scott could see the red and black ground getting closer and closer through the cockpit windshield, but could do nothing more than watch, helpless, as the plane plummeted towards the ground. _

_He could feel the scream of terror building inside him, a great pressure in his chest and head as he could do no more than be carried downwards. The pressure building and building, moving upward from his belly and chest until it felt like his head would explode. He screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the impact, but the pressure in his head, the need to scream, the need for release, was impossible to ignore. He had to do something, and he didn't know what. _

_The plane continued to fall towards the earth, and Scott finally opened his eyes – _

Scott jolted awake, and for a moment he thought he was still locked in his dream. Everything around him appeared to be washed in red. He shut his eyes tightly to clear his vision, and opened them again – and the room looked completely normal. No red. 

Must be the drugs, Scott thought idly before falling asleep again. 

Some hours later Scott woke again, his head feeling like it was going to burst open at any second. The silence, save for the sounds of his room mates' breathing, told him that it was still night. He lay completely still, afraid that any movement, no matter how slight, would send bolts of pain from his brain down through his entire body. 

The throbbing in his head grew, the pressure increasing behind his eyes, to the point where tears were streaming down Scott's cheeks. He'd never had a migraine like this before; the severity of the pain was like nothing he'd ever experienced. He was beginning to seriously consider the possibility that he was going to die; that this time the pain was simply a symptom of something much more serious. A sudden flash of pain, more intense than any of the others, caused his whole body to tense, and with a shout his eyes flew open. 

Everything he saw was red. 

The pressure increased, pushing against his skull, behind his eyes and above the base of his nose. It was like something was trying to break free, and the only way out was through the front of his head. 

Suddenly and with a deafening roar, a hole appeared above Scott's head, plaster and concrete and wood raining down on him, showering the beds around in the room. People were screaming, confused, knowing only that something horrible was happening and that they were in danger. Scott looked around the room, and the walls seemed to crumble around him. He swiveled his head towards the window, and it exploded outward in a tinkle of shattering glass. Scott watched in amazement as the tree beyond the window was blasted to splinters. 

All around him, people were shouting and running; the staff were trying to evacuate the building. He could hear Ellen in the hallway, screaming at everyone to keep down close to the ground, to keep their heads covered to protect themselves from falling debris. 

Scott's traumatized brain was frantically trying to piece together what was happening. _Whatever you see, whatever you look at, is pulverized. Not a coincidence! You're causing it! Close your eyes, it's your eyes, idiot, close your eyes before you kill someone!_

Scott snapped his eyes shut and the sounds of destruction stopped almost instantly. The screaming and shouting, however, continued. He could hear the staff trying to usher the children from the building, taking head counts along the way. 

Someone came into Scott's room - Ellen again, from the sounds of it - and herded the boys out the door and down the stairs. Scott hung back, trying to disappear, knowing that this was all his fault. 

"Scott, are you ok?" a voice, Ellen, called, running over to him. "Come on, sweetie, we've got to get you out of here." She draped his arm over her shoulders and wrapped her own around his waist before hefting him to his feet. "One foot in front of the other, Scott, you can do it," she murmured reassuringly as she led him out of the room. 

When they were finally outside, Ellen sat him down by a tree, telling Scott that she'd be back soon. It was choas outside, children weeping and shouting, sirens growing louder as the firetrucks came blaring down the street. Scott waited a few minutes at the base of the tree, staying as far away from everyone else as possible. Listening to the tragedy that he'd caused, he realized what he had to do. He needed to leave, he needed to get away before he hurt anyone else. 

And so in the confusion, Scott Summers slipped away from the crowd of children and disappeared into the darkness of a nearby alley. Eyes still tightly shut, his hand on the wall to guide his steps, he slowly made his way through the unfamiliar terrain. 

He walked for a long time, though for how long he didn't know. The sirens had faded into the distance, so Scott figured that he was now far enough away from Essex House that he wouldn't be discovered. He entered another alley and found a dry corner where he could spend the rest of the night. Curling up, legs drawn up tight against his chest and head resting on his knees, Scott waited for the morning to come, hoping that it would literally and figuratively shed some light on his situation. 

The warmth of the morning sun woke him before the sound of the traffic. Confused, Scott lifted his head and opened his eyes. As he took in the brick walls around him, the events of the previous night came back to him and he snapped his eyes shut again. 

_Wait a minute,_ Scott thought in sudden realization, opening one eye slightly. Nothing happened. No red, no walls crumbling, nothing at all unusual. He sighed in relief, but the relief was short-lived. What if it happens again? He realized that he couldn't go back to Essex House, he wouldn't risk it. 

Scott was suddenly more afraid than he'd been since the moments before he and Alex jumped from the plane. He had nowhere to go, and no-one he could call for help. He was completely on his own. 

**~~**

**_Coming Soon, Chapter 8_**

**_I'm going into feedback withdrawal!_**


	8. Chapter 8

**_Chapter 8_**

Charles Xavier was sitting in his office reading a scientific paper on the purported origins of mutation. Utter rubbish, he thought to himself. Despite his disregard for the credibility of the report, he found himself fascinated by its absurdity. 

"Hey Chuck, you hear about what happened last night?" Logan asked the older man as he entered the study and tossed a newspaper on the desk. 

"Yes, Logan, it sounds like a terrible accident," Charles replied distractedly, not looking up from the article. 

"Yeah, 'accident'. One of the kids in the report is swearin' up and down that one of the other kids caused it. Said red beams were comin' outta the other kid's eyes, and that's what caused all the damage." 

"Oh?" Charles prodded, his curiosity now piqued. 

Logan smirked. "Thought ya might find that interestin'." 

"Where's the child now?" 

"The kid with the 'laser eyes'? They dunno. He's missin' – hasn't been seen since last night." 

Xavier pondered that for a moment, fingers steepled in front of him. "I think this would be a perfect opportunity to test Cerebro," he mused, glancing at his colleague. 

"Ya really think it's ready for that? Ya just finished the final modifications." 

"No better time than the present, wouldn't you agree? This missing boy –" 

"Scott Summers," Logan supplied. 

"Yes, Scott Summers. If Scott is indeed a mutant, he may very well be in need of our help. Cerebro is our best chance of finding him." 

***** 

Hundreds of miles away, Scott was making his way as far from Essex House as he could. He was overly cautious, ducking into doorways or alleys anytime he saw a police car cruise by. He was grateful that in her hurry, Ellen had put him to bed fully clothed after his collapse yesterday – he even still wore his beaten up sneakers. 

Sometime later Scott found himself in the heart of downtown. He observed the countless homeless people, individuals ranging from children his own age to elderly folks who looked like they had amassed a life time of memories in shopping carts and bags. Unsure of when, or even if, he'd suffer a repeat of the previous night's events, Scott wouldn't allow himself to seek shelter with others; instead he hovered on the outskirts of areas populated by larger groups, if only for the security of knowing people were close by. 

"You lost, kid?" a voice asked from behind him. Scott spun around and came face to face with a grizzled old man, face lost behind a wild mass of hair. The man's breath and body odor were overwhelming, and Scott stumbled back a step to escape the stench. 

"N-n-no. I'm fine, thanks," Scott replied simply. 

"You sure? You don't look fine – you looked scared outta your mind. You runnin' from something?" 

After the initial shock over the man's appearance wore off, Scott was able to realize that the stranger really was only asking out of concern. Amidst the layer of dirt on his skin, and through the unruly hair, kind brown eyes peered out at him. 

"Um, something like that," Scott finally admitted. 

"Something bad happened, huh?" 

Scott nodded and looked away; he didn't want this strange man to see the pain he was sure was evident in his eyes. 

"You should go home – or find someplace else to go. The street's nowhere for a kid to be. Trust me." 

"I can't go back," he said, his voice verging on cracking. 

The stranger regarded Scott steadily. "You be careful, then. If you need anything, any help, you can find me on that bench over there," he said, motioning to a bench at the far end of a small park. "Ole Tim'll look out for ya." 

Scott's head snapped up. "Your name's Tim?" 

"Sure is. What's yours?" 

"Scott. Tim was my best friend's name," Scott admitted, a knot forming in his stomach. God, he hoped Tim was alright. 

"I'd better take a look around," Scott said after a lengthy silence during which Scott was scanning the area. 

"Want some company? I can show you some of the good spots." 

"No thanks, I'll find something myself." 

"Ok then," Tim relented, the reluctance obvious in his voice. "Just remember where you can find me. See ya, Scott." 

"See ya," the boy replied, watching as the old man hobbled down the street, pushing a small cart of belongings. 

Scott spent the rest of the day trying to find something to eat. He swallowed his pride and accepted a half-eaten sandwich and partly-drunk bottle of juice from a business woman who passed him huddled in a doorway, but that was all he'd eaten in more than 24 hours. His stomach was growling, and worse than that, he could feel another migraine starting to form. 

***** 

Charles exited the large room in the sub-basement with a look of disappointment on his face. 

"Any luck finding him?" Ororo asked. While Logan readied the jet in anticipation of needing to move out in a hurry, she'd been waiting for Xavier to emerge and to let them know what their next move would be. 

"I'm afraid not. But that simply indicates that the boy has not used his powers since I connected with Cerebro." 

"So what would you like us to do?" she asked, concerned about their possible new recruit. 

"I think you and Logan should go try to find him. I will keep trying to locate Scott using Cerebro, and will notify you immediately if I am able to get a lock on his position." 

In the ready room, Logan was confronted by an annoyed teenager. 

"Why can't I go with you? I'm bored," Jean complained. "I won't get in the way, I promise." 

"No way, Red," Logan told her simply, turning his back on her so she couldn't manipulate him with the pout he knew was already in place. 

"Why not?" she asked, her tone bordering dangerously on a whine. 

Logan sighed and turned back to her, regarding her carefully. 

Jean at 13 was a far cry from the terrified little girl who had arrived at the Institute three years before. She was overly mature for her age, a result of both her traumatic life experience and her enviable intelligence. Still unsure of herself and insecure around her peers, she avoided most social situations where she'd be expected to interact with kids her own age; she preferred the company of adults. She found it extremely difficult to make friends with other children, and was subject to merciless teasing at the private all-girls' school in which Xavier had enrolled her. Jean was an easy target for bullies because she was different. Everything – Jean's height (she towered over the other girls) and blossoming good looks, her unusual family/living situation, her intelligence and bookishness, her natural athleticism, and her shaky self-esteem – made Jean stand out. 

"Sorry, Red, not this time. Me and Ro need to go alone." 

"Ro and I," she corrected under her breath, then sighed resignedly. "Fine. Will you at least tell me what you're going to be doing?" 

"Possible recruitment mission. And don't you go tryin' to correct my grammar. I know what's right, I just don't _care_." 

She ignored his chastisement. "You mean another mutant kid?" 

"Maybe. That's what Charles thinks, but he can't track him down with Cerebro." 

"So, it's a boy?" she asked, carefully pasting a neutral expression on her face. 

"Yeah." 

"How old is he?" 

Logan grinned. "You thinkin' of this kid as a potential boyfriend or somethin'?" 

Jean blushed deeply and scowled at him. "No! I was just thinking it would be nice to have someone my own age around here." 

Still grinning, Logan finished packing his rucksack and hefted it over his shoulder. "Sure ya were, Jeannie. But you're in luck – he's yer age. So if we can find this kid, you'll likely have yerself a little playmate." 

***** 

It was nearly sundown by the time Scott's migraine had returned full-force. Without access to pain killers, Scott was helpless. Earlier in the day, he had found a spot to hide behind an overflowing dumpster. He had dragged over some flattened cardboard boxes to place on the ground, to keep himself dry from the mysterious liquids that had seeped out of the garbage in the dumpster. Scott had wedged another box above his head, creating a make-shift roof over his little shelter; he hoped it would help to keep him out of sight. 

Scott was now curled up on his side, back against the wall, eyes closed tightly, trying to will the pain into submission. The pressure simply seemed to build the more he wished it away. 

Someone banging on the dumpster startled Scott so much that, despite the pain, he shot upright and opened his eyes. The dumpster was thrown across the alley by bright red beams, slamming into and through the opposite wall. 

_No!_ Scott thought frantically as he shut his eyes tightly, realizing it was starting again. He tried to scramble to his feet, but we held down by a heavy arm. 

"Whoa there, Scott, relax, it's Tim," the old man's voice was calm. "Let's get you outta here before someone comes looking after the commotion." 

Scott allowed himself to he helped up and led away. 

***** 

Professor Xavier had sent Logan and Ororo the coordinates as soon as Scott's powers presented again. By the time they arrived in the alley, however, all that remained was the damaged wall and destroyed dumpster. 

"Looks like it was the kid, all right," Logan muttered. He crouched down by the cardboard he suspected the boy had been using as a bed, and got his scent. 

"Do you think you'll be able to track him?" Ororo asked, looking around them sadly. It pained her to think of anyone, let alone a defenseless child, living in such an environment. 

Logan grunted in reply and sniffed the air. "He and someone else – someone with really bad hygiene – went off that way. Guess the accommodations weren't to his liking," he said dryly. 

***** 

"So it went away after last night?" Tim asked, trying to understand what was happening to Scott. 

The boy nodded. "It just stopped. And the headache went away." 

"Was your head hurtin' earlier tonight?" 

"Yeah. But it's fine now. It's like, as soon as I let IT out, the pain goes away." 

"Do you want to try opening your eyes again?" 

"No!" Scott snapped, then repeated, "no" in a softer tone. 

"Does it feel like it's stopped?" 

Scott thought about it for a long moment, and shook his head. "I don't think so. It feels different than before. It's like a buzzing, it's pressing right here," he explained, bringing the heel of his hand to the spot between his eyes. 

"But you won't know if you don't try," Tim reasoned. 

"The old man's right," a new voice said from the shadows. Scott scampered backwards on his hands, afraid that this stranger now knew his secret. 

"Relax kid," the voice said. "Why do kids always act so damn scared of me?" he asked, amusement tingeing his voice. 

"It must be your way with people," a second voice, this one a woman's, answered. "Are you Scott Summers?" 

Scott hesitated before answering. "Yeah. Why?" 

"My name's Ororo Munroe, the other man is my colleague, Logan. We're here to help you," she explained. 

"Help me how?" Scott asked, suspicions raised. 

"We'd like to take you to our facility in upstate New York. It's an institute for young people like yourself, people with gifts. We would like to teach you to control your new powers." 

"Gifts? Powers? What the hell are you talking about?" Scott snapped in frustration. 

"Scott, you're a mutant. These optic beams you emit, they're your mutation." 

Shock had silenced any smart-alecky retort. "A mutant? What does that mean?" 

"It means that you have an active gene that normal humans don't have. It makes you special – it allows you to have special abilities. The mutation itself is different in everyone, and there's no way of predicting how one's mutation will manifest," Ororo explained patiently. 

"So these beams that come out of my eyes...they're my mutation. And you could teach me how to control them?" 

"That's the idea," Logan agreed. "Unless ya think ya can control 'em on yer own." 

Scott shook his head. "I don't think I can," he admitted, shoulders slumping in defeat. 

"Try it," Tim encouraged. "I'll aim you at something you can't hurt, and we'll see if they've gone away again." 

Scott reluctantly agreed, and allowed himself to be positioned accordingly. When he was told to, he opened his eyes and saw that he was in a park, in front of a large rock, almost a boulder – then the blasts turned the stone to rubble. 

"Guess that answers that question," Logan muttered. 

"I need something to keep my eyes shut," Scott pleaded. "Anything. I don't want to open my eyes by accident. I don't want to hurt anyone." 

"Duct tape?" Tim offered, digging through one of his tattered sacks. 

"Better than nothing," Scott agreed, placing the offered strip firmly across his eyes. The cool gumminess clung to his skin, pulling slightly as he raised his eyebrows to test how secure it was. It wasn't comfortable, but it was better than the alternative. 

"So, it is decided then?" Ororo asked. "You will come with us back to Westchester?" 

Scott took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. Let's go to this institute place. If it'll help me control these things, I'll do pretty much anything." 

Logan snorted derisively. "Don't sound so excited kid, or we might just leave you here." 

"Sorry," Scott said, half smirking in the darkness. "Do you think they're ok?" Scott asked Tim under his breath. 

"Yeah, I do. They seem like good folks who really want to help." 

"Why have you been so nice to me?" Scott finally asked the question he'd been rolling around in his head all evening. 

Tim was silent for a moment, then spoke with a heavy sadness in his voice. "You remind me of my grandson," he replied simply. 

Scott nodded, not really knowing what to say other than, "Thanks, Tim." 

A large hand clapped Scott on the shoulder. "Take care of yourself, Scott." 

The boy nodded. "You too." 

"Aw, I'll be fine, don't you worry. Just concentrate on learning to control those powers of yours, so you can go on to have a good life." 

"Are you ready to go, Scott?" Ororo asked, taking his hand gently in her own. 

Again, Scott nodded. "Let's go," he agreed, and Ororo led him away, away from his old life, away from Essex House, and away from the pain and fear. He suddenly wasn't so afraid about the future.

**~~**

****

**_Coming Soon, Chapter 9_**

**_I'm still in feedback withdrawal!_**


	9. Chapter 9

****

Chapter 9

By her very nature, Jean was curious; she wanted to know everything - how things worked, why things were the way they were, what would happen if there was B instead of A. She couldn't stand being kept in the dark about anything, or not knowing something. Hank was happily convinced the girl had the makings of a top-rate scientist, what with her thirst for knowledge, her need to solve mysteries and her desire ask "What would happen if...?"

It was said curiosity that had Jean standing outside Professor Xavier's study, ear pressed lightly against the crack of solid mahogany doors in the hopes of being able to hear what was going on inside. To the best of her figuring, the staff had been sequestered inside since before she woke up that morning, and she was annoyed at being excluded. Jean suspected the boy Logan and Ororo had been sent to find was in there as well, but she couldn't tell for sure. The thick walls of the mansion ensured each room was sound resistant, so she could only hear a very faint mumbling from within the professor's study, and couldn't discern the different voices. This only frustrated her further - she was excited about having another student at the Institute, and was anxious to meet him.

She sighed in frustration, moving away from her post by the door to lean against the wall. Sinking to the ground, Jean drew her shorts-clad legs upwards, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin on her knee. For long minutes she stared down her nose unseeingly at a mostly-healed scrape on her knee. When her eyes started to ache from her cross-eyed regard, she closed them and let her head drop backwards slowly until it was barely brushing the wall. Eyes shut to visual distractions, and listening to the silence of the old mansion, she tried to practice her meditation; instead, she let herself drift into a light doze.   
  
The sudden motion of the door bursting open startled Jean so that she banged her head solidly against the wall as she jerked in surprise. Muttering an uncharacteristic curse under her breath, she winced in pain and rubbed at the spot for a second before opening one eye to squint up at Logan, who stood in the doorway chuckling at her.   
  
"What're you laughing at?" she grumbled.  
  
"Serves you right for spyin' on us," he smirked at her, shutting the door as she tried to peer past him into the room beyond.   
  
"I wasn't _spying_, I was just trying to figure out where everyone had disappeared to," Jean replied tartly, getting to her feet so she could look down slightly at Logan. She was now just a hair taller than her instructor, and she liked it. It gave her some added presence, an illusion of strength, and it was the only time she was grateful for her height. "So, what _is_ going on?"  
  
"Stuff with the new kid," he replied simply before sauntering down the hall. Jean frowned at the lack of forthcoming information and jogged after him.   
  
"What do you mean, 'stuff with the new kid'? What kind of stuff?"  
  
"Y'know, the standard stuff."  
  
"No, I don't _know_. God, Logan, why are being so difficult?"  
  
He flashed her a grin and kept walking.   
  
"You're just doing this to piss me off, aren't you?" Jean challenged, stopping in the corridor and watching him shrug non-committally as he continued to walk away. 

Jean clenched her hands into fists and took a deep breath before running after him. "What's his mutation?" she asked, hoping to get at least some information out of the man.  
  
"Force blasts – _optic_ force blasts."  
  
Jean blinked at that. "You mean the blasts come from his eyes? Wow."  
  
"Yeah, 'wow'. Too bad the kid can't seem to control it."  
  
"Not at all?" she asked, her tone softening.  
  
"Only when he keeps his eyes shut. So it looks like yer new little playmate ain't gonna be able to see for a while. Least, not until Hank can figure somethin' out."   
  
"Wait a minute. Did he have anything to do with that accident I heard about on the news? The orphanage, or whatever it was, that was destroyed?" 

Logan nodded. "Yup. The kid's still kinda messed up about it, too. Blames himself."  
  
"That's silly. If he can't control his powers, he can't hold himself responsible for something like that," she said, brows furrowed. Jean chewed on that tidbit of information while she continued to follow Logan through the corridor and down the stairs to the main floor. "Where are you going, anyway?" she finally thought to ask.

"Gettin' some lunch ready. 'Ro's gonna show the kid to his room, then we're gonna eat."  
  
"Stop calling him 'the kid'," Jean scowled. "It's dehumanizing."  
  
"_Dehumanizing_?" Logan repeated, barking out a laugh. "Christ, Jeannie, you've been hangin' out with Hank too much. You're startin' to talk like him."  
  
She ignored him. "Doesn't he have a name?"  
  
Logan smirked to himself. She was already identifying with the boy, which was good. Everyone agreed that, assuming Jean and Scott could get along, that they would be good for each other. Jean would be able to help Scott adjust to being a mutant, and Scott, they hoped, would become Jean's first real friend her own age – something she desperately needed.  
  
"Scott Summers."  
  
"Thank you," Jean smiled, patting his arm patronizingly. "Wasn't that painless? I told you that it wouldn't really kill you to be nice every once in a while."  
  
"You've really turned into a smartass, y'know that?" the older man grumbled, and Jean flashed him a bright smile. "You don't talk to any of the others like that."  
  
"Nope, just you. Don't you feel special?" she chirped.

*****

"I think the professor is planning on having Jean give you the grand tour after lunch," Ororo told Scott as she led him downstairs after showing him around his room. 

"How old did you say she was?" Scott asked. He knew they'd told him, but he was feeling a little overloaded with all the information being thrown at him.

"She's 13, just like you."

"And what's her...gift?" Scott prodded, struggling to make himself refer to a mutation as a gift, but knowing it was important for him to start viewing it as such.

"Telekinesis," Ororo said. "She's also telepathic. Professor Xavier has recently resumed working with her to control her abilities."

__

Great, someone else who can go poking around in my head, he grumbled to himself.

Jean's head whipped around at the sudden thought that had been thrust into her mind, confused by the unfamiliar mental voice, searching the area for the source. She'd grown accustomed to picking up the occasional loud thought from the Institute's other residents when she let down her guard, though their mental shields were strong enough to keep her from being overwhelmed. This particular thought, however, was almost as if it had been shouted directly into her ear.

"Red, you ok?" Logan prodded, concerned by the look of confusion on her face. He quickly put down the dish he'd been carrying and was beside her in two long strides.

She shook her head silently and shut her eyes, trying to refocus and strengthen her shields. 

"Ah, it would appear that lunch is ready," Ororo announced as she ushered Scott into the kitchen, then stopped short as she took notice of Jean's obvious distress. She glanced quickly at Logan for an explanation, and he mouthed the word "Shields". Ororo nodded silently in understanding.

Scott was confused by the sudden silence. "Um, what's going on?"

Jean's eyes popped open, and she suddenly knew who had been shouting in her head. She allowed herself a good look at him, taking in everything from his mop of reddish brown hair to his too-small clothes hanging on his tall, skinny frame. Her gaze kept returning to the silver duct tape across his eyes, and the grim line of his mouth. 

__

Don't tell him, she pleaded silently with Logan, then Ororo. _He was projecting. He's freaked out that I'm a telepath - doesn't want me going into his mind._

"Nothing, Scott, everything's fine," Ororo reassured him with a hand on his shoulder. "Scott, I'd like you to meet Jean Grey. She's been with us for more than three years now."

Jean stepped forward, intent on shaking his hand, as she'd always been taught was polite. She hesitated when he made no move, then determinedly reached out and grasped his hand in hers and shook it firmly. "Hi, Scott," she said, forcing the smile into her voice. "It's nice to meet you."

Scott was taken aback by the delicate hand that shook his so confidently, but quickly recovered. "Hi," he replied simply. Her voice was sweet, but he remained cautious; people weren't always as they seemed. 

Jean's smile faltered at his lukewarm response, and she pulled her hand back. _He doesn't even know me, and he already doesn't like me,_ she thought sadly. She dropped her gaze to the floor, her cheeks burning in embarrassment; she was thankful for the tape covering Scott's eyes. Logan and Ororo exchanged another quick glance and made an unspoken decision. 

"Jeannie, you sit in your usual spot. Scott, you can sit next to her," Logan told them. Jean looked up quickly, a slightly stricken expression on her face, but obeyed as Ororo gently directed Scott to his seat.

Charles and Hank joined them shortly thereafter, and Charles carried much of the conversation for duration of the meal. Jean remained silent, eyes on her plate, not speaking unless asked a direct question; even then, she kept her responses as concise as possible without appearing rude.

"So, Jean, I thought it would be nice for you to give Scott a tour of the school and the grounds this afternoon," Charles told her once everyone had finished their meal. 

Jean glanced at the professor and then at Scott, whose mouth was once again set in a thin line.

__

I think he'd prefer it if someone else took him, she told the professor silently.

__

Don't be silly, my dear, Charles chastised lightly. _It will simply take him time to grow accustomed to us._

Jean wasn't sure whether the "us" in question referred to the Institute's residents in general, or specifically to telepaths.

"Um, sure, that would be fine," Jean said, trying to sound cheerful, but then continued, determined to give him an out. "That is, unless Scott would prefer someone else...?" 

Scott was surprised by that, wondering what would have given her that impression. He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't have a problem with it. But if you don't want to –"

"No no, that's not it," Jean hurried to correct him, not wanting him to feel like she was avoiding spending time with him – even though that was, in fact, what she'd been trying to do.

"Wonderful, it's decided then," Charles smiled. "Jean, for your reference, Scott's bedroom will be across the hall from yours, and two doors down. You might want to consider using that as your starting point."

Jean nodded, pushing her chair away from the table and standing. "You ready?" she asked the subdued boy next to her. 

Again he shrugged. "Sure." He stood and then paused awkwardly, not quite knowing how to proceed. 

Without thinking about it, Jean took Scott's hand and led him from the kitchen, maneuvering him around any obstacles. Scott tried not to show how flustered he was by the gesture; he had never held hands with a girl before, and was once again struck by how delicate her hand was in his own. 

As they were climbing the staircase, Jean suddenly became aware of what she had done, and stopped, quickly dropping his hand. He stumbled slightly from the sudden loss of contact.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," she blurted out, embarrassment making her words rush together. 

"Huh?" He had no idea what she was talking about.

"I'm sorry about just grabbing your hand like that. I just didn't know how else to show you around without the chance of you bumping into things, and –" she trailed off, rambling out of nervousness.

"It's ok," he told her, offering her a slight smile. "You're right, it makes the most sense." 

Scott reached out towards her, hesitantly, and Jean smiled in relief. Maybe this will be ok after all, she mused silently. She reached out and took Scott's hand, and led him up the rest of the stairs and down the hallway to his bedroom.

"Um, how do you want to do this? Should I just tell you were everything is from this point, and then I can take you wherever you want to go?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah, I'll pace off the distances."

Jean looked at him sharply, and he sensed the movement. "What?"

"You've give this a lot of thought," Jean observed.

"Not really. Back at...um, before I came here, my best friend was blind. He taught me how to get around blindfolded - it was a game. This is basically the same thing." Then he added softly, "Only this time it's not a game."

Jean looked at his sad face and felt her heart reach out to Scott. "If anyone can come up with a way for you to control the blasts, it's Dr. McCoy. You'll see again, Scott, don't worry."

"Why do you sound so sure about that?" he asked, wanting to believe as she did, but at the same time afraid. 

"Because I know Hank. When he's faced with a problem, he won't rest until he comes up with a solution. Just give him a little time." She squeezed his hand reassuringly, and they started their tour.

~~

**__**

Coming soon, Chapter 10  
  
As always, feedback is hugely appreciated!


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Henry McCoy was a scientist, a researcher, and nothing made him happier than having a new scientific or medical problem to solve. For the past three days straight, he had been in his glory, testing Scott and his powers. He was loath to leave his work, even taking his meals down in his laboratory in the sub-basement. 

The lab was where Henry was currently holding court, preparing to present his findings to Charles, Logan, and Ororo. Mysterious-looking X-ray films were hanging on a dark viewing box along the wall, and stacks of print-outs were scattered across the counters. 

"I have several answers, but no solutions, I'm afraid," Henry reported.

Logan prowled restlessly through the lab. "I thought answers _were solutions," he grumbled, pausing in his pacing to lean against one the workstations and folded his arms across his chest. _

Henry adjusted the glasses perched on his nose, and flicked the light on the viewing box to illuminate several hanging x-ray films. "In many cases, Logan, you would be correct. However, when considering the perplexing conundrum of our young Mr. Summers, answers and solutions are independent of one another."

"Please enlighten us as to what you have found, Henry," Xavier prodded, scanning the images and trying unsuccessfully to decipher the various black and white shades presented to him in the images. 

"Scott's mutation is that of energy conversion," Henry began. "His body absorbs ultra violet solar rays and transforms that energy into concussive blasts. The beams generate no heat, no radiation, and no electrical or magnetic fields, just pure concentrated force.

"Three years ago, Scott suffered a serious head injury after escaping a plane crash. He remained in a coma for close to two months after the accident, as a result of brain damage sustained in the fall. According to Scott, the specialists who treated him determined that the damage was to a dormant portion of the brain, seeing as how the boy showed no side effects other than migraines." An excitement that was almost child-like was evident in Henry's voice. "I have run a complex battery of tests, including an MRI and CT scans. If you look at this image here, you see a surface view of Scott's brain; everything is as it should be. But if you look at this image here, and at this area," he moved onto a new film, and directed their attention to the region in question, "you can see where the problem lies. This discolored area is the damaged part of Scott's brain. It is set deep within the occipital lobe –"

"Hank, in English, huh?" Logan growled as he resumed his pacing, randomly picking up and putting down lab instruments on the trays and counters. 

"Of course, of course, my apologies. The occipital lobe, this region at the back of the brain, is what controls our eye movements and our vision. The occipital lobe is directly above the cerebellum, which is this portion here," he elaborated, pointing at the area at the back of the brain and towards the bottom. "The cerebellum controls all our motor functions. The mid-brain, located within the cerebellum, is the center of ocular motion – eye movement. You can see the dark area on the image, which represents the injury to Scott's brain, extends just into the mid-brain region of the cerebellum. The damaged area is, for all extents and purposes, dead. There is no activity at all, and no surgery will be able to repair it, I'm afraid. The impairment appears to affect the area that would have allowed Scott to control his optic blasts, to be able to turn them on and off. With that region of his brain not functional, he will never be able to control his mutation naturally."

Throughout Henry's discourse, Ororo had remained silent, absorbing the complex information while perched regally on a rolling stool. Only her hands, clenched tightly together, gave any indication of how disturbing she found the situation. "And is there a way for it to be controlled artificially?" she asked.

"It's possible, but I'm not yet certain," Henry admitted. "I've heard of some groundbreaking research in the field of protective materials that perhaps I could further explore. It would appear that some quartz crystals can not only deflect light waves, but withstand incredible amounts of force. I simply don't know if they could withstand the amount of force emitted by Scott's blasts."

"Have you been able to successfully measure that force?" Charles asked, knowing that Henry had been anxious to use some of the more complex equipment to test Scott's powers. 

"Yes. Scott's powers are truly remarkable. While he is unable to turn his powers off, we discovered that he _can control the width of the beam. From a distance of two feet, Scott was able to puncture a one-inch thick steel plate – instantly. He also destroyed my blast wall during an earlier test," he added dryly. "To the best of my calculations, when at full power, his optic blasts have the equivalent force of 1,000 kilograms of TNT – roughly the equivalent of a torpedo blast." _

The others stared at Henry in stunned silence; Scott's disclosed ability to produce optic blasts of such strength was unexpected, and worrisome. 

"He is a living weapon," Xavier muttered under his breath. In the wrong hands, that kind of tremendous power could prove to be highly dangerous. For several minutes, the only thing that could be heard in the lab was the low humming of various machines droning in the background. 

Ororo decided it was time to change the subject. The possibilities of Scott's powers were simply too scary to ponder at the moment. "What about Scott's psychological well-being? He has not had the easiest life for the past several years, and I can't help but wonder how the manifestation of his mutation has affected him." 

Now it was Charles' turn to step in. As a trained psychologist, he boasted the expertise to evaluate the mental health of the children. "I have conducted some standard psychological tests with Scott – and with Jean. The tests in question are designed to assess major symptoms of social and personal maladjustment, among other issues. Scott is still suffering grief from losing his parents and brother; he is experiencing feelings of sadness, anger, guilt, fear, relief, anxiety, abandonment and a profound sense of aloneness. These emotions are comparatively mild in comparison to what they must have been during the year following the accident, but they will affect Scott's behavior."

Logan pondered that for a moment. "Is Scott gonna be goin' through the same kinda thing Jeannie did?" It had almost killed Logan to watch Jean suffer so – and to see the extents to which she almost went – and he wasn't eager to watch another kid go down the same path. 

Xavier nodded. "Quite possibly. Jean, as we all know, suffered from severe depression when she was younger, largely as a result of being 'rejected' by her parents. She was able to move past that with our assistance, but her self-esteem never truly recovered; it was worsened by her inability to form friendships with her classmates at school. She has made great improvements in accepting her gifts, though she still suffers from peer-relation issues."

Charles continued, "Scott and Jean both suffer from low self-esteem, which is a result of knowing they are different. For Scott, it dates back to being labeled as special needs within the foster care system, and it has been worsened by the manifestation of his mutation. 

"They both display a remarkable maturity for their age. Scott and Jean are capable of handling their inner pain without acting out in a destructive manner. In spite of the losses they have suffered, and all they have been through, they are emotionally strong and mentally stable."

"How are our young charges getting along?" Henry asked, not having had the opportunity to observe the two children interacting since the day of Scott's arrival.

Logan snorted. "About the same as on day one – which ain't good."

"They are both afraid," Ororo said with a sigh. "Jean has had such trouble with the girls at her school that she is afraid to be herself around Scott. And Scott is afraid to let his guard down, for whatever reason – whether is uncomfortable around a girl, or that he is still self-conscious of his mutation, I can't be sure. They are polite to each other, but not overly friendly. They do not seek out each other's company."

"Yet," Charles added with a knowing smile. "It is only a matter of time before they let down their guard. They are the only two children here – they only have each other, and sooner or later, they will realize they have nothing to fear."

"Do we know what they are up to this afternoon?" Ororo wondered aloud.

"Last I saw," Logan spoke up, "Jean was outside readin', and Scott was in his room listenin' to music."

Ororo frowned. "They could easily do those activities together – even sitting together in the same room and doing separate activities would be nice for them. Should we encourage them to spend time together?" 

Xavier shook his head. "No, I believe we should allow them to grow accustomed to each other at their own pace. If we force them on each other, I fear we will only exacerbate the situation, and make them less willing to bond." Charles smiled wryly. "After all, they _are teenagers, and prone to do exactly the opposite of what is asked of them."_

**~~**

**_Coming soon, Chapter 11_**

**_Please feed the author! Reviews are the sustenance of choice. _**


	11. Chapter 11

**_Chapter 11_**

Bare feet slapping quietly against the polished hardwood floors, Jean made her way stealthily down the dark hallway from her bedroom, pausing periodically to listen to the night-time sounds of the mansion and searching for any indication that anyone else was up and about at this late hour. She reached the head of the stairs and stopped, listening for any indication that she'd woken anyone. Satisfied with the silence, she continued down the stairs, and through the main floor corridor, noting absently that the grandfather clock read almost 1:30 am. 

Jean finally arrived at the darkened kitchen, and entered without turning on the light. The hum of the refrigerator motor was the only sound in the room. Trailing her fingers lightly along the counter-top, she guided herself to the cabinet that held her favorite cups, and selected one blindly. She then continued her path to the fridge, grasped the cool handle and gently pulled the door open. The seal hissed slightly as it released, and light spilled out from within, illuminating the kitchen. Jean leaned inside, scanning the contents of the fridge. 

"Midnight snack?" a voice asked from the darkness behind her.

Jean yelped in surprise, jumping back and hitting her butt against the door and her head on the underside of the freezer, rattling everything inside. Her plastic glass clattered to the ground, and she could hear the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. "Dammit," she muttered softly, picking up the cup quickly to keep it from making any more noise. She hoped it hadn't been enough to awaken Logan; with his supersensitive hearing, he'd caught her mid-kitchen raid on more than one occasion.

"Are you ok?" 

Jean turned around to see Scott standing awkwardly behind her, one hand on the table, the other on the back of his chair. He had obviously stood quickly, worried, but didn't know how to go about helping. 

"I'm fine. You just scared me. I didn't know anyone else was up," she told him in a voice barely above a whisper. 

Scott cocked his head to the side and tried to fight the smile that was twitching at his lips. "Sorry," he replied as he sat back down.

Turning back to the fridge, she reached in and pulled out a carton of milk. "'S ok," Jean mumbled. After replacing the milk, she rummaged through the cupboards until she came up with her prize – a new bag of chocolate chip cookies. She was about to tell Scott good night and go back up to her room, but when she glanced over at him, she stopped mid-step. He looked so lonely, sitting by himself in the dark kitchen with nothing but a half empty glass of milk in front of him. 

"Want some company?" Jean asked softly. Eyes now adjusted to the lack of light, she could see the corners of Scott's lips turn upward in a small smile.

"Sure."

 Jean hesitated only a second before walking over to the table and pulling out the chair next to Scott's. Jean busied herself opening the package, and grinned in triumph as the smell of fresh cookies wafted out of the bag. "Mmmmmm, a fresh bag is always the best. Want some?"

"What kind are they?"

"The only kind that matters…" 

"Chocolate chip," they finished together, Scott's a question, Jean's a statement. The two teenagers chuckled, pleased to discover they had something in common, other than being mutants. 

Jean got up and went back to the counter, returning with two small plates. She placed a pile of cookies on each plate, and slid one towards Scott, making sure that it touched the tip of his fingers so he'd know where it was. "Here," she told him. "If you want more, the bag's at your 12 o'clock."

"Thanks," Scott said, though he didn't need her to tell him; he'd been able to sense her movements, so he knew exactly where everything was. He was grateful Jean had decided to stay; he hadn't had a chance to really talk with her since he arrived. Seeing as they were the only two kids at the Institute, he figured they should get to know each other and try to become friends.

They munched the cookies in silence for a few minutes before Jean grew uncomfortable with the quiet. Although they'd been living under the same roof for more than a week now, this was the first time she had spent any time alone with Scott since she gave him a tour his first day at the Institute. She still wasn't really sure how to act around him. 

"What are you doing up, anyway?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

"How come?"

Scott seemed to ponder that for a minute. "Too quiet, I guess. I'm not used to having a room to myself yet. There were ten of us in one big room back at Essex House."

Jean made a face that was lost on Scott. "Yuck, that would drive me nuts. I couldn't stand sharing a room with that many people."

"It took me a while to get used to it, but after a while it was no big deal. I used to share a room with my little brother…" Scott trailed off, the memory saddening him.

Jean was suddenly assaulted by images of a small, blond-haired little boy, and overwhelming thoughts of regret and loss. These in turn conjured up her own memories of Annie, her long-lost friend. Inhaling sharply, she pushed away memories of two lost children and refocused her shields to block out Scott's projected thoughts. Jean swallowed the lump in her throat and tried her best to sound chipper, in an effort to cheer him up. "I would've hated sharing a room with my older sister. We're just too different."

"Do you get along?"

She snorted inelegantly, and Scott laughed. "With Sara? Not really. It's not that we hate each other, we just don't have anything in common other than being sisters. Of course, I haven't talked to her much since I came to the Institute. Or to my parents, for that matter."

"Are your parents bothered by the fact you're a mutant?" Scott prodded, curious.

"That's one way of putting it, I guess," Jean admitted. "They don't like having a freak for a daughter. They don't call me very often any more, once every week or two. I only ever see them at Christmas, and _that's_ just _so_ much fun." Scott could imagine she was rolling her eyes with that last comment. "Of course, I don't think they took the whole mutant thing any harder than I did, so I can't be too mad at them," she finished.

"You didn't like finding out you were a mutant?"

Jean barked out a laugh. "That would be the understatement of the year. I hated it. I thought mutants were freaks, and I didn't want to be a freak. It took me a long time before I got comfortable with it."

"You're ok with it now, though?"

Jean wobbled her head back and forth in an undecided manner, but then remembered that Scott couldn't see her. "I've accepted it more than I had a year ago, and some days are better than others. I don't hate the fact that I'm a mutant, but that doesn't mean I don't wish I were normal sometimes. How 'bout you? How're you adjusting to your new _gift_?" 

Scott sighed. "I don't know. It's still so new, y'know? I'd feel a whole lot better about everything if I knew I'd be able to control the blasts eventually. I don't like the idea of not being able to see again because of my _gift_.  But I think my parents probably would've been ok with me being a mutant," he admitted softly.

"Do you miss them a lot?" Jean asked, matching his tone of voice.

He nodded silently and ate another cookie with a crunch.

"Stupid question, sorry," she muttered.

"It's ok."

"Well, one thing is for sure, you're part of a family here. The professor, Hank, Logan, Ororo, they're all amazing. I don't know what I'd do without them. They're my _real_ family…and now you will be, too," she told him, trying to make him forget the hurt of his lost parents and brother. 

Scott had to admit that the thought of having a family again, even one as unique as the one he now found himself a part of, warmed him. "So, why're you up?" he finally asked.

Jean took a bite of another cookie and chewed for a minute before answering. "Couldn't sleep," she told him absently.

Scott smirked at his own words being thrown back at him. "How come?" 

"I don't know."

"Liar."

Jean's jaw dropped and she stared at Scott in surprise. Was he _teasing_ her? It sounded like it, but his teasing lacked the maliciousness she was used to from the kids at school. She stared at him, noticing the slight smile on his face.

"You know why you can't sleep, you just don't want to talk about it," he told her. "That's ok, you don't have to tell me."

Still unsure what to make of Scott, Jean finished eating her cookie, washing it down with a gulp of milk. _Life's made up of taking risks, right? That's what __Logan__'s always telling me,_ she thought to herself. _Ok, let's take a risk._

She confessed softly, "I can't sleep because I'm worried about starting school again next week." 

Scott was surprised that she answered him, and he jumped slightly at the sound of her voice. "Why?" he asked. 

Jean sighed. "I hate school."

"Why?" he repeated.

"I just do."

"Why?" he asked again, starting to feel very much like a parrot. "I got the impression you were pretty smart. I thought you'd do great in school."

"It's not that. I get good grades; I'm actually at the top of my class," she admitted.

"So why do you hate it?"

"It's a snotty all-girls school and everybody except for the teachers hates me," she blurted out at last.

Scott was taken aback by the honest response. "Why do you think that?"

"It's not what I think, it's the way it is."

Her voice sounded so defeated, and he didn't have a clue what to say to make her feel better. Scott opted to change to subject. "At least you get to _go_ to school. I'm gonna be stuck here every day because Professor Xavier doesn't think it's safe for me to go to a normal school."

"I'm sure he just wants your powers to be under control first. He did the same thing to me," Jean reassured him, studying him carefully. The silver duct tape was still across his eyes, and she couldn't help but think how uncomfortable it must be for him. "Can I ask you something?" At Scott's nod, she continued. "Why do you keep the tape on your eyes? It's got to be really uncomfortable, and I'm sure the professor could come up with something more comfortable for you until Hank finds a permanent solution."

"This is the only thing I trust. Professor Xavier offered to give me some kind of blindfold, but I'd always be worried about it falling off, or coming loose. I don't have to worry about that with the tape. Besides, it's not that bad." But even as Scott said the words, he raised his hand and scratched under the edge of the tape.

"_Sure_," Jean scoffed, drawing out the words. "It looks _really_ comfortable."

Scott grinned guiltily, knowing he was caught. "Ok, it sucks. It's annoying and itchy, and it feels exactly like you'd imagine it would to have duct tape stuck to your face."

Jean laughed openly at Scott's sheepish expression, and Scott was struck suddenly by what a wonderful sound it was. It made him smile just to hear it, and he had no explanation as to why it should affect him like that. He pushed the feeling aside for the moment, making a mental note to examine it later.

"How much damage have we done to that bag of cookies?" Scott asked, finishing another of the treats.

"More than half the bag," Jean told him with a giggle. "We're going to be in so much trouble."

"We can't get in trouble if there's no evidence," he said slowly, smirking.

Jean grinned, catching onto his meaning.  "And just what are you suggesting?"

"I think it's pretty obvious."

"We eat the evidence," they said together before bursting into smothered laughter.

"I don't know, Scott. That's a lot of cookies," she said thoughtfully between snickers. "Think you're up to the challenge?"

"Bring it on, Jean, bring it on."

They finished the bag and washed their midnight snack down with fresh glasses of milk. Both of them felt vaguely ill from eating so many cookies, but refused to admit it to the other, not wanting to reveal any sign of weakness.

"What about the package?" Scott asked, concerned about the evidence they couldn't consume.

"I'm on it," Jean assured him. He heard her chair scrape lightly as she stood, and he sensed her move away from the table. A moment later he heard rustling and crinkling, followed by what sounded like a cupboard door closing, and more rustling. 

"What did you do?"

"Buried it. Literally," Jean replied, obviously pleased with her own resourcefulness. "It's at the bottom of the garbage, which I put in a bigger garbage bag, which I will now take out to the garage. Nobody will ever find it."

"You're sneaky. I'm impressed," Scott told her with a grin.

Jean disappeared for a minute, taking the garbage out as she'd planned. When she returned, she washed her hands, rinsed their cups and plates and put them in the sink. "I guess we should try to get some sleep."

Nodding, Scott stifled a yawn. "Probably. What time is it, anyway – around 3:00?"

"Very good internal clock. It's 3:05," Jean confirmed.

They walked down the hallway in silence, Jean leading Scott by the hand. Even though he no longer needed anyone to guide him through the mansion, he allowed her to lead him. For some reason, Scott didn't mind.

Jean led them to Scott's room, and released his hand. She felt awkward all of a sudden, and she wasn't sure why. She didn't quite know what to say; luckily she didn't need to worry.

"Thanks for keeping me company, Jean," Scott whispered.

"You're welcome. It was fun," she admitted.

Scott smiled broadly, and Jean smiled in return. She thought he had a very nice smile.

"Do you think you'll be able to sleep ok?" he asked.

"I hope so. You?"

Nodding, Scott smiled softly. "It's weird, but it doesn't seem so quiet here, now."

"Good. G'night, Scott."

"G'night."

Jean turned and headed down the hall to her own room when she was stopped by another whisper. 

"Oh, and Jean?"

"Yeah?" she called back, her voice still hushed. 

"Don't worry too much about the kids at school. You may not have many friends there, but you've got one here." Before Jean could reply, he slipped into his room and closed the door behind him.

Jean stood in the dark hallway, staring at the closed door, smiling. She had a friend.

~~

**_Coming soon, Chapter 12_**

**_Feedback is always appreciated!_**


	12. Chapter 12

**_Chapter 12_**

"C'mon, kid. Yer gonna be late," Logan growled softly at Jean from the kitchen doorway.

"But I'm not done breakfast," she protested, making no move to get up from her chair.

"Then ya shoulda eaten faster instead of spending so much time gabbin'. Let's go."

"But Logan – "

"_Now_, Red," he said in a tone that left no room for argument. Logan pinned Jean with a look that told her he meant business, and all further protests died on her lips. Satisfied he'd made his point, Logan turned and stalked down the hallway towards the door to the garage, knowing Jean would not be far behind.

Scott snickered quietly as Jean groaned and pushed herself out of the chair next to his. Because of the duct-tape secured over his eyes, he couldn't see the expression on her face, but he could well imagine it.

"What are _you_ laughing at?" Jean grumbled at him as she passed behind him, purposefully bumping the back of his chair with her hip on her way to put her plate on the counter. "As soon as Dr. McCoy's finished those glasses he's designing for you, you'll be going to school. Thank god we're starting high school in the fall – only two more months of hell."

"C'mon, Jean, it can't be as bad as you let on," he said soothingly, knowing how much Jean hated school. In the eight months Scott had been at the Institute, he and Jean had become best friends, and she'd confided in him about how unhappy she was at her school, about how isolated she felt. He knew she didn't have many friends, and he couldn't understand it. Jean exuded such warmth and had such an outgoing nature that it seemed impossible not to be drawn to her.

"No, you're right – it's a blast," Jean said sourly, as she walked back over to the table and snagged the strap of the backpack sitting on the floor. "I'm just little Miss Popular. Don't you hear the phone ringing off the hook every evening? Those are all my non-existent friends _not_ calling."

"Jean – "

"Forget it, Scott."

"Jean," he said again, and reached out, instinctively knowing where she was so that he could grasp her hand.

"What?" she asked, her voice soft and sad.

"You'll always have me," he told her gently, but firmly. "No matter what, I'll always be your friend."

He heard her sniffle softly, and he wished, for the umpteenth time, that he could see her face.

"I know," she replied, squeezing his hand. "And I'll always be yours."

Scott could hear the smile in her voice. Jean leaned in suddenly and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tight. He hugged her back, smiling into her hair.

"As far as best friends go, I could sure do worse," Jean chuckled as she released him and stood up.

"Jean," came Logan's warning yell from down the hall.

"Yeah, well, you're not so bad yourself. Now go before Logan kills you."

Jean laughed, making Scott smile. When Jean laughed, he couldn't help but feel happy. Her joy was almost contagious.

"'K. See you later," she called as she darted out of the kitchen and started running down the hallway toward Logan. "I know, I know, I'm sorry," she told the older man as she approached, rolling her eyes.

He shrugged his annoyance. "You ain't doin' me any favors by being on time for school, kid. I couldn't care less."

Jean snorted. "Yeah well, neither could I. So let's just go."

Scott finished eating and cleared his plate, placing it in the sink with Jean's. He then carefully made his way through the mansion's labyrinthine corridors to the basement lab to visit with Hank McCoy. 

"Scott, my dear boy, your presence is serendipitous!" Dr. McCoy exclaimed. "I was about to go in search of you."

Scott said nothing, waiting for the doctor to continue. The big man turned and looked at the boy with a wide grin. "I believe I am a mere few hours away from having a working eyewear prototype for you."

Scott was in shock. He didn't believe it – he wouldn't allow himself to believe it, for fear of being disappointed. But oh, how he hoped…

"All right, Scott. Henry is going to remove the tape, so keep your eyes closed," Professor Xavier instructed the nervous boy. Scott did as he was told, flinching slightly as his sensitive eyelids were exposed to air for the first time in almost nine months. Then the gentle weight of the glasses settled across the bridge of his nose, and the arms wrapped securely behind his ears.

"Doncha think we should be doin' this little experiment outside?" Logan asked from behind Scott.

"True," Ororo agreed. "If the lenses were to fail, then nothing would be damaged that could not grow back."

"It's unlikely that Scott's optic blasts would cause much damage to these walls," Charles chuckled. "Remember, they're….reinforced."

Logan shrugged and exchanged a glance with Ororo. "Should we perhaps not wait until Jean can be here?" Ororo asked.

Logan barked out a laugh. "She'll be pissed as hell when she finds out she missed this."

"Scott? Would you rather wait until this afternoon, when Jean is able to be here?" Hank asked the boy.

Scott thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I'd like to surprise her," he replied.

"All right then," Hank said as he made sure the glasses were on firmly, then moved around so that he was slightly behind Scott. "Go ahead – open your eyes."

Everyone held their breath.

Scott opened his eyes for the first time in almost close to a year, and saw the world through a red haze – the ruby quartz that kept his optic blasts in check.

"It's working," Scott said in quiet amazement, slowly turning to take in his surroundings. He looked upon his saviors for the first time, and grinned.

"Now I know why the girls at Jean's school say you're scary," Scott said to Logan, smirking. Logan laughed and smirked back.

"They've got no idea, kid," he said with a feral grin.

Scott sat in the passenger seat of Logan's convertible, watching as the world flew by in a red wash. Scott was gradually adjusting to the color. He knew seeing a world of red was better than being blind, so he didn't complain. Everything seemed beautiful to him – the trees, the houses, and the winding road. It was as if he were seeing everything for the first time.

"How much further?" Scott called to Logan, over the rushing wind.

"'Bout five minutes," Logan answered. He glanced over at Scott and couldn't help but grin at the teenager's nervousness. "Don't worry, kid. You'll get to see her soon."

They pulled up in front of Jean's school after the last bell had gone. There were groups of girls everywhere, and Scott scanned the area, seeing if he could identify his best friend.

"You tryin' to pick her out on yer own?" Logan asked, watching as Scott scanned the grounds. Scott's nod was the only reply.

Scott was busy assembling everything he knew about Jean and trying to create a physical image. All he knew of her physically was that she had red hair and that she was almost as tall as he was. That helped narrow his choices down, but not enough. As his gaze wandered to the far end of the yard, he knew he'd found her.

She was apart from the rest of the girls, sitting cross-legged on top of a low stone wall, reading a book. Her long hair hung like a curtain around her, obscuring her face from view.

"There," Scott said, motioning at her. "That's Jean over there, isn't it?"

Logan glanced at the boy and cocked an eyebrow at him in approval. "Not bad, kid," he muttered, and gave a couple of quick blasts of the horn. At the sound, the girl's head snapped up and she glanced at them. She gave a cursory wave, bent back over to collect her things, and hopped down off the wall. As she started towards the car, it became obvious the moment she realized it wasn't just Logan waiting for her. She paused mid-stride as she absorbed what she was seeing. Scott smiled at her, and he waved before opening the door and climbing out of the car.

Jean started running towards them, grinning widely. One of the girls she passed must have said something snide, because Jean turned to her, flipped her the bird, and then continued running towards the car. Logan laughed. "Thata girl," he muttered, pride sneaking into his words.

"Scott, oh my god, you got your glasses!" Jean squealed in excitement as she threw her arms around her friend and hugged him fiercely. Scott hugged her back, at a loss for words.

Jean was beautiful.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. From what she'd told him about how she was treated at school, he'd thought maybe she was plain, or maybe even _odd_ looking. That would have easily explained why Jean was ostracized by her peers. Not that it would have justified the teasing, but he knew first-hand how cruel kids could be to anyone different. But even had she been plain, certainly her vivacious personality should have more than compensated, so he'd still been confused. Now that he'd seen her, his confusion mounted.  
  
Why would a girl like Jean - sweet, smart, funny, and beautiful - not be surrounded by friends? Why would she be teased by the other girls at school? He looked past Jean's shoulder at scanned the faces of the girls who watched, carefully taking in their expressions. Suddenly he understood.   
  
Jean _was_ different from the other girls. Together, those differences made her beautiful. But if picked apart, they could be fodder for torment. He knew the names they called her; Jean had cried on his shoulder more than once after a particularly rough day. But now the reality struck him. The other girls were jealous of her.   
  
"You two gonna stand there all day, or are we gonna get outta here?" Logan asked finally, watching the two young teenagers with amusement.  
  
Scott and Jean jumped apart, embarrassed that they had held each other for so long. Jean's cheeks flushed bright red and her eyes focused on an interesting spot on the ground. "Sorry," she murmured, not making eye contact with either Scott or Logan.  
  
Logan chuckled as Scott climbed into the backseat behind the driver's seat, and Jean took the front passenger seat.  
  
Scott didn't take his eyes off Jean the entire ride back to the Institute. He had to make up for all those months of not being able to see his best friend's face. Jean chatted about nothing of consequence, and he realized it was out of nervousness. He smiled. A couple of times Jean turned around to address Scott, only to find him already looking at her.  
  
"What?" she finally asked, clearly uncomfortable under his scrutiny.  
  
"Nothing," he replied with a smile.  
  
"Then stop it," she told him, scowling at him. "You're creeping me out."  
  
Logan howled with laughter, and Scott grinned even wider.  
  
Once back at the mansion, Logan went off on his own, leaving Scott and Jean alone.  
  
"So, is it strange to be able to see again?" Jean asked as the strolled through the main hallway.  
  
"Kinda. I'd almost gotten used to being blind," Scott admitted. "But it's great, too," he added, glancing sidelong at her.  
  
Jean just nodded, eyes on the floor.  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked after a long minute of Jean's silence.  
  
She shrugged noncommittally and continued walking.   
  
Scott stopped and crossed his arms, staring at her. "Come on, Jean, what's bothering you? I'm not leaving you alone until you talk to me."  
  
Jean sighed and glanced back at him.  
  
"Fine. Meet me on the dock in 10 minutes. I've gotta change out of this stupid uniform," she said, indicating her kilt and blouse.   
  
Scott nodded and watched her walk away.

Scott was waiting on the dock when he spotted Jean heading towards him. She'd changed into stylishly casual clothes, and her hair was pulled up in a pony tail. He thought she looked adorable.   
  
"Hey," he greeted when she was close enough to hear.  
  
She smiled at him and sat down next to him on the wooden dock. Neither of them spoke for several long moments.  
  
"So..." Scott finally said.  
  
"Yeah…so..." Jean repeated with a self-deprecating smirk, and fell silent again.   
  
"What's going on?" he prodded.  
  
She sighed and flopped backwards, lying down with her legs dangling over the edge of the dock. She flinched slightly as the elastic band holding up her hair dug into her head.   
  
"I'm sure I'm just being stupid," she said, closing her eyes to gather her courage.  
  
"Probably, but go ahead anyway," Scott teased, trying to lighten her mood. He knew he'd succeeded when she opened her eyes to glare at him and stick out her tongue.  
  
"Seriously, Jean, what's wrong?"  
  
"I'm really glad that Dr. McCoy was able to design those glasses for you. I just...oh, I don't know," she trailed off, closing her eyes again. Scott waited patiently for her to work out what it was she wanted to say.  
  
"I guess I'm afraid that this will change our friendship," Jean finally admitted in a small voice.  
  
Scott looked at her in confusion. "Why would you think that?"  
  
"I don't know," she said in frustration, sitting up again and staring down into the lake. "I guess...I guess I'm just scared. I've never had a best friend like you before – nobody's ever accepted me the way you have. I've never connected with anyone else this way.  
  
"You're the first friend my own age that I've had since I came out of my coma. Why is that? I've been going to that damn school for the past two years, so why haven't I made any other friends? I'm the same person, whether I'm here or there. What's the obvious difference between you and the girls at school? They could see me, and you couldn't. So I have to wonder how much of your acceptance of me was because you didn't know what I looked like – you judged me solely on _who_ I was, not the fact that I'm a giant, gawky red haired freak. And now I wonder if you'll still want to be friends the way we've been."  
  
Scott stared at her, completely at a loss for what to say next.  
  
"Jean..." he began and stopped, not knowing how to articulate what he felt. She looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes, and Scott's heart broke. He reached out and put his arm around her shoulder, hugging her to him. "I've told you before, I will _always_ be your best friend. For as long as you want me to be. Of course, you'll probably want nothing to do with me when you get a boyfriend," he joked.  
  
Jean snorted a laugh. "Yeah, right. I'm sure I'll be beating the guys off with a stick," she said derisively. 

Scott chuckled and hugged her tighter. "If it makes any difference, I think you're really pretty," he admitted, swallowing his pride and embarrassment in an attempt to boost her self-esteem.  
  
He could feel her head shaking "no" against his shoulder. "Stop it," he said firmly. "Have I ever lied to you?"  
  
Jean pulled away and looked at him, meeting his eyes through the thick red lenses of his glasses. "No," she admitted.  
  
"Then shut up and say 'thank you'," he said, smiling.  
  
She blushed and looked away, but he saw the corners of her mouth curl up in a small smile. "Thank you," she finally said. They sat in a comfortable silence for several long minutes.  
  
"Now that that's settled, what do you want to do?" Scott asked, removing his arm from her shoulders.  
  
"Hmmm….I dunno," Jean said, but he noticed a mischievous glint in her eyes.  
  
"What're you up to?" he asked suspiciously.  
  
"What do you mean?" she asked, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes and a sweet smile on her lips.  
  
_Man, I am in so much trouble,_ Scott thought. Now he understood exactly what Logan had meant all the times he'd said, "Jeannie, don't give me that face!" It was what he said just before he caved to whatever it was she was asking, or forgave her for something. Scott was sure that Jean would be stunned to learn how much power she had over the men in her life – himself included. Scott just hoped that she'd always use that power for good, otherwise God help them all.   
  
The thought made him grin. He took in her expression of innocence and told her, "You're so full of shit."  
  
"Fine," she relented, instantly trading her angelic smile for a wicked grin. "Wanna go swimming?"

The word "Huh" was barely out of Scott's mouth before he felt the telekinetic shove that dumped him in the lake. Luckily the water right by the dock was shallow, so he ended up only knee-deep in frigid, spring lake water.  
  
"Oh, you are _so_ dead," he threatened as he started boosting himself back onto the dock.  
  
"Doubtful. You'd actually have to catch me first," Jean announced, grinning at him before sending another telekinetic shove his way, knocking him back down into the water as she jumped to her feet. She grinned impishly at him, and then took off at a run across the mansion's grounds.  
  
Scott watched her for a few seconds, grinning like a fool. He was done for, and he knew it.  
  
"Oh yeah, I'm in trouble," he said again, shaking his head slowly. Then he climbed up onto the dock, and chased after his best friend.

**_

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_**

**_Coming soon, Chapter 13_**

**Author's Note:** Ok, yeah, so this chapter was a bit of a cop-out. But I needed to address the issue of Scott getting his glasses, and I didn't think I could do it any better than I did in _First Sight_. I was stuck on it for so long, but I finally decided to just suck it up and get it done. Maybe now I'll be able to move on and get this story done, once and for all.


	13. Chapter 13

_Surprise! It's alive, ALIVE! _

_I'm sure you thought I'd abandoned this fic, and I wasn't entirely sure I hadn't, to be honest. But all of a sudden... the muse, she has returned! _

_A huge, huge thank you to Sue Penkivech and Beaubier for their beta reading expertise on this chapter. It scared the hell out of me, and you two were tremendous help. I've said it once, I'll say it again, you both rock, and I have no clue what I'd do without you guys. :)_

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_**Chapter 13**_

Charles sat behind his imposing cherry wood desk, flipping through the file of a young boy whose parents had some… concerns about some odd behavior. Most notably, their son's sudden ability to speak more than a dozen foreign languages, none of which he'd ever studied. It was quite the intriguing case, and Charles most definitely felt he knew the answer to the poor parents' questions… however, whether they really wanted to hear the truth was another matter altogether.

Closing the folder, Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing slowly and firmly.

He was at a loss. No matter how delicately he approached these situations, which were becoming more and more common, it seemed most parents were unable or unwilling to see their children's gifts as just that. They wanted them "fixed" or "cured", or otherwise returned to "normal".

They didn't grasp the fact that what they wished was impossible. Their children weren't suffering from an illness or an infection that could be treated with a few shots or a round of antibiotics. It was in their DNA, and could be changed no more easily than the parents themselves could change the color of their skin or their gender.

However, as the instances continued to increase, it was becoming more and more evident to Xavier that he needed to do something. Though he was no precognitive, he had a very bad feeling about what the future would bring, as more and more children reached puberty and began to manifest their mutations. It would be harder for the media, for the general population, to ignore. And if it wasn't introduced with just the right angle, they could be looking at mass hysteria.

With a sigh, Charles turned his chair and moved it closer to the window. Below him in the yard, Scott and Jean, the two students who represented so many years of work and commitment, his pride and joy, were cleaning up the grounds. A storm had ripped through Bayville two days prior, and the trees had suffered for it. The lawn was scattered with leaves, twigs, and branches of all shapes and sizes, the trees bearing white, jagged scars from where their limbs were torn away.

It was actually an exercise for them, in addition to being a chore. They had been instructed to use their powers as much as possible to complete the task: Jean, her telekinesis to lift and bundle the branches, Scott his optic blasts to break the larger branches into a more manageable size. It was about teamwork as much as anything; something they both desperately needed to work on. Both teenagers were fiercely independent by nature (not to mention terribly stubborn), and reluctant to ask for help. The fact that they were inseparable best friends didn't come into play – they rarely asked each other for assistance, even when they very obviously needed it.

A familiar presence outside of his office door had Charles turning his chair around in surprise, just as the knock sounded.

"Come in, Magnus," Charles intoned in his steady, calm voice.

His old friend opened the door and stepped into the room, seemingly filling it with his presence. Always an imposing figure, it seemed to only increase with age. A long, black trench coat was carried casually over his arm, white hair (prematurely so, he always insisted) perfectly combed, posture almost regal.

"Charles," he greeted with a smile, closing the distance between them with three long, confident strides. He grasped Charles' hand in his, and shook it warmly. "It's been a long time, old friend."

"Indeed," Charles agreed, a smile touching his eyes now, as he shook the hand of his long-time friend. "Too long."

Magnus withdrew his hand and straightened, surveying the office curiously before turning his attention back to Charles. "You look well."

"As do you," came the sincere reply, although not for one moment was Charles lulled into a false sense of security. Magnus wanted something, Charles was sure of it. There was no other reason for this impromptu visit. It was just a matter of what, exactly, that something was. "Please, make yourself at home," he invited, motion to a chair.

The other man accepted with a nod, folding himself gracefully into one of the Queen Annes on the opposite side of the desk.

"What can I do for you, Magnus?" Charles finally asked, the bluntness of the words softened by a small smile and cordial tone.

This drew a laugh from Magnus, a rumbling from deep within his chest, and a matching smile spread across his face. "Come come, now, Charles. Why so suspicious? Is it so inconceivable that I could have simply decided to pay a visit to an old friend? One I haven't seen in far too long? Why must there be this assumption that I _want_ something?"

"I've known you too long, I'm afraid," Charles replied easily, still smiling, though now some wariness crept into it.

With a dramatic sigh, Magnus shook his head in mock sorrow. "Charles, Charles, Charles," he said sadly, "why must you be so untrusting?"

"Experience, Magnus. Our friendship has taught me well."

Still obviously amused, Magnus raised his hands to shoulder height in mock surrender, and leaned forward just slightly. "All right, I surrender," he chuckled, then grew serious, slowly lowering his hands to his lap. "Times are changing, Charles. I'm sure you're aware of this."

"Change is what keeps us alive, Magnus," Xavier noted. "And keeps life interesting."

"But this change… it's going to bring about terrible things. A war, Charles, between mutants and humans. You know this, though you continue to choose to deny it."

"I _know_ no such thing," Charles denied, his voice changing neither in volume nor tone. "It is a sad possibility, I admit, but I strongly believe that it can be avoided. We simply need to introduce mutants to the general population slowly –"

Magnus cut him off. "Gradual desegregation won't work."

"You don't know that."

"History has proven it."

"History has taught us how to do it poorly," Charles pointed out, "and how to fix the mistakes that were made in the past."

"History has also taught us how intolerant homo sapiens are," Magnus argued, his voice growing slightly louder, colder. "History repeats itself, Charles, _that_'s what the books teach us. Once the existence of mutants is made public, humans will go thundering down the path towards yet _another_ genocide."

"That won't happen, Magnus."

"It can, and you know that as well as I!" Magnus roared, then seemed to take a step back in an attempt to compose himself. "It has happened time and time and time again. Germany, Croatia, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Bosnia, Africa." He ticked each country's bleak history off on his fingers. "_America_. It has happened here before, Charles. All under Presidential decree, no less. Native Americans removed from their land and shipped to prison camps. The Japanese, during World War II. Slavery."

"And while your examples represent shameful, dark years in our history, none of those instances were intended as _exterminations_," Xavier argued, but the other man appeared to not hear.

"It's never ending, Charles," he insisted, his voice beginning to rise again. "The platitudes of 'never again' are meaningless words, and the proof is in the nightly newscasts. You know how it will begin. Small things at first, beginning the polarization of humans – the normal ones – and mutants. The next thing you know, we'll be expected to wear our very own versions of the yellow star of David that the Nazis were so very fond of using to identify Jews." Magnus plucked at his suit jacket, disgusted by the very idea. "Our rights will be revoked, our actions limited by law. Hate groups will be formed, and will slowly, surreptitiously gain government support. And then, mutant camps, for the 'protection' of humans. What next? Enforced sterilization to prevent mutants from reproducing? Isolation camps?"

"Magnus –"

"No, Charles! I will _not_ stand by and watch while homo superior is eradicated like some lesser, insignificant species by the beings that are the true insects!"

Charles simply sat there, looking at his old friend impassively. It was an old argument, and their sides would never change. They knew that, but it didn't keep them from revisiting the topic from time to time, when the air was ripe with the promise of change, of strife.

Or, as Charles chose to see it, of endless possibilities and potential for great things.

Magnus had grown silent and pushed himself from his chair. He paced the length of the desk, back and forth, then stalked to the window.

It was only then that Charles tensed.

"So young," Magnus mused softly, peering down at the two teenagers still clearing debris from the yard. "So full of promise."

"Yes," Charles agreed carefully.

"Children are the future, they say," Magnus continued, and Charles rolled his chair over to the window so he could observe what it was his old friend found so fascinating below.

Jean had levitated a large branch (a small tree, really), and Scott was very carefully blasting it into smaller chunks to be used as kindling.

"Jean Grey."

The sound of her name on Magnus' lips had Charles' eyes snapping up immediately. How had he…?

"Telekinesis and telepathy. A rare double gift," Magnus continued. "Omega level." His eyes lowered to Charles fleetingly, then back out the window. "_Unlimited_ potential, in such a young, impressionable girl." He shook his head slowly in admiration. "Fascinating."

Charles felt himself growing ill. Magnus knew about the children. He had obviously done a fair bit of investigating. And the tone in his voice told Charles that he liked what he'd learned. Liked it far, far too much.

"Oh, don't look so surprised, Charles," Magnus chastised, almost teasingly. "I have my sources, just as surely as you have yours."

That did little to settle Xavier's nerves.

"And Scott Summers. Alpha level. Enough raw power in those optic force blasts to punch a hole clean through a mountain." He paused and smiled to himself. "Or to take down a building."

"Magnus, don't," Charles said warningly, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. Magnus was talking about using children – _his_ children – as weapons. Absolutely unacceptable.

"Just imagine it, Charles," Magnus said, a wistful tone to his voice. "We could assemble an army of young mutants, just like these," he motioned out the window, his voice growing more excited, "and train them, prepare them for the coming war. And then we can strike first, hard and fast, and rise to take our proper place as the dominant species on the planet."

"No –"

"Think about it, Charles," he continued, turning around to look down at his former friend. "We'd be invincible. There would be no force on Earth, no weapon known to mankind, that could stop us." He leaned down and grasped Charles' hands in his, eyes unnaturally bright in his excitement. "Just _imagine_!"

Charles remained silent, face impassive, though inside he was reeling.

Magnus was serious, of that Charles had no doubt. He would form his army, and he would do everything in his power to eliminate human beings, as an entire race, from the planet.

Unless someone could stop him…

"Please leave, Magnus." His voice was calm, clipped, formal. And his face betrayed nothing.

But Magnus knew him well enough to not be fooled. He stood, releasing his friend's hands, and picked up his jacket from where he'd draped in on the back of the chair. Pausing near the door, he partially turned, speaking over his shoulder. "The road to hell, Charles, is paved with good intentions." He reached for the knob and opened the door. "Remember that, my friend."

The door clicked shut behind him, and Charles felt himself slump slightly in his chair. Wheeling over to the window, he peered down at his students, teenagers he looked upon as his own children. The very fact that Magnus would even suggest – no, imply – that they could use them to wage a war…

That brought him up short.

No, not use them to wage a war. Use them to help _prevent_ a war. Magnus was right, there were no weapons on Earth that would stand a chance against a mutant army.

Another army of mutants – defenders – were another story entirely, however.

It was a loathsome idea, he accepted that. To train students as a mutant police force, of sorts, to protect the world against a rising mutant army…

It was horrible, but it just might be the world's only chance.

Watching as Scott and Jean abandoned their work for a few moments of play, laughing and smiling, to be carefree children, it broke Charles' heart to think about what he might have to do to them.

And to the masses of students, scared and confused by their abilities, who would inevitably seek out his school as a sanctuary. Once word of the Xavier Institute as a safe haven for "the gifted" got out in the right channels.

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**_Coming soon (no, really, I mean it!), Chapter 14  
As always, feedbackwould be greatly appreciated._**


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